A Wok of Infinite Light
by Feonyx
Summary: Final Chapter: The Dark Alliance has scattered at the resurrection of an ancient golem, leaving Regal to wield the legendary fork and save them from the rise of a cruel culinary empire. Features secrets of the Ultimate Recipe and the Wonder Chef himself.
1. Leftovers of a Different Flavour

**A Wok of Infinite Light**

The door swung open in one of Meltokio's shadier restaurants, creating a long swath of brilliantly illuminated dust across the main room. A cloaked man entered and let the door shut again, returning the inhabitants to their preferred darkness. They collectively exhaled and returned to their food, now that it was clearly not some kind of hero who had come in to bring someone to justice.

Regal Bryant decided, as he slowly crossed the room, that he shouldn't have entered in quite that manner, but it had been instinctive. Heroing apparently never quite wore off. Still, under the hood and floor-sweeping robe, he was unlikely to be recognized. Just as well, as he was badly outnumbered by rogues in this place.

Picking a table on the far wall, near the soot-blackened fireplace and an inexplicable umbrella stand filled with a variety of pokers and skewers, Regal sat down silently and far too formally. Luckily, no one noticed except the server, who knew a high-tipping customer when he saw one.

"What'll ye have?" asked the short man, and Regal wondered for a moment if he could be half-dwarf. The accent was distinctive.

"_Order some fries, would you?_" The voice was barely loud enough to count as a whisper.

"Fries," Regal said abruptly, knowing that his style of speech was likely to give him away as a noble if he spoke for too long.

"As ye desire, yer lordship," said the server, marching off briskly. Regal stiffened in concern.

"_It's just an honorific, he doesn't think you're a noble,_" said the voice, reassuringly.

"I confess myself baffled as to why you would be here," Regal murmured.

"_I proclaim myself equally baffled that you managed to track me down, Regal Bryant._"

"I have my methods."

"_This isn't actually very comfortable. Some assistance, perhaps?"_

Regal grabbed the hem of his cloak and raised it, effectively putting a curtain between the umbrella stand and the rest of the room. There was a short, quietly echoing sound, and when Regal dropped his arm, the Wonder Chef was sitting against the wall. He produced from his hat a rough brown tunic, put it on, and then, in a distantly ironic manner, hid his hat inside the tunic.

"You're still rather distinctive," Regal remarked.

"Not enough," said the Wonder Chef. "And I don't intend to be here for long."

"I'd still like to know why you're here at all."

The server arrived with Regal's order, gave the Wonder Chef a brief, confused glance, and then slunk across the room to prey upon another few diners just sitting down.

"These," said the Wonder Chef, picking one golden-brown fry up like a wand. "All of our studies show that they are exceptionally nutritious, low in oil, and they're the best you're ever likely to taste, as well. I simply can't understand how the chef does it." He ate the fry. "But since you didn't know that, obviously that's not why you're here."

"No," Regal agreed.

"You're here for the Ultimate Recipe," said the Wonder Chef.

"Also not. You wouldn't teach me if I asked," said Regal.

"Oh, excellent," the Chef commended him, smiling brightly. "You're the best I've ever met, do you know that? I have seen many chefs and _artistes de cuisine_ in my time– I even thought the one here was a Potential after tasting his fries, but you possess wisdom beyond cookery. Why are you here?"

"I need to know more about the Dark Chefs," Regal replied.

The Wonder Chef raised an intrigued eyebrow. "What prompted this?"

Regal sighed. He didn't like what had happened, and didn't want to repeat it if necessary, but the Wonder Chef was much more than he appeared to the casual eye. "Since the reunion of the worlds, Lezareno has been a restorative force, rebuilding destroyed cities and helping those who suffered in the many cataclysms of our journey. We are busier than ever and I am continually thankful for our former prosperity, as there is little money to be had in philanthropy, and workers still need wages…"

…So naturally as El Presidente returning to his seat of power, Regal had been immensely busy and worked as hard as any other Lezareno employee– harder than most, but still only human. A report of an entire food shipment to the new village of Palmacosta vanishing had received only dismissal from him at first, thinking it was a miscalculation, or a delayed transport.

When both of these were proven wrong, Regal progressed to anger, thinking that a dispatcher was sidetracking supplies for his own gain, possibly to sell in hungrier regions. The President had set a small task force to track it down and demoted the dispatcher responsible to drudgework.

Regal paused there, lost in thought, and the Wonder Chef waited with patient politeness, until the patience wore thin and he coughed quietly. This also failed to get any reaction from Bryant, as did drumming his fingers on the table, taking another handful of fries, and waving a five-foot-long fork in his face. The Chef sighed.

"If the story ended there you wouldn't be here," he said sharply. "What came next?"

Regal shook his head slightly, returning from a waking dream. "Another shipment vanished, this time with a report from someone who claimed to have seen suspicious people nearby at the time. Dressed like chefs in midnight blue."

"Which you had suspected all along…" the Wonder Chef prompted.

"Yes. I did not want to remember that day, or that you had declared me capable of defeating the Dark Chefs. I had returned to the life I wanted. Now it is clear that I cannot."

"Not yet," the Chef agreed. "And the dispatcher?"

"…He returns to his former position this afternoon," said Regal, staring intently at the table.

"You learn quickly, too." The Wonder Chef seemed to reach a decision. "How is your paella coming along?"

"I have mastered it," Bryant replied simply.

"So soon? And I thought you might never get it." Regal knew when he was being led on.

"Nevertheless I have. I can also make curry, miso stew, spaghetti, quiche, shortcake, cabbage rolls, rice balls, pescatore–"

"All of them?" the Chef said shortly. "Excellent. A True Chef. Now listen. These twenty-four are what my family call Recipes of Power, and you have seen their effects yourself many times. Most people, no matter how good their potato salad, cannot fully restore a magic-user's supply of mana. You can, as could your companions, because I showed you how and passed on the gift.

"Over the years since they first appeared, the Dark Chefs have learned many of these dishes. From where they learn such secrets, I don't know, and would dearly wish to find out. However, the one they seek above all others is our greatest treasure, the one we call only the Ultimate Recipe."

"If it is within my power to do so, I will never let them learn it," said Regal fiercely. The Wonder Chef grinned widely, but it was gone again so fast that Bryant almost thought he had imagined it.

"But I won't teach it to you," the Wonder Chef said solemnly.

"I do not believe I need it," Regal said. "All I want is to stop them from raiding Lezareno's beef shipments like eccentric pirates with funny hats."

"Funny hats?" The Wonder Chef looked pained. "That's going to cost you another fry." He deducted the charge and went on. "The Dark Chefs have something in mind, some plot that even my family hasn't yet uncovered."

"Which is saying something when dealing with such masters of disguise," said Regal.

"Too right," the Chef agreed. "But they know we are their enemies. They don't know you, and don't expect trouble from El Presidente anyway."

"Must everyone call me that?"

"There's a strange joy to be had in it. Now, if you're truly certain that you wish to make this your quest, if you intend to become a Wonder Chef and foil whatever scheme the Dark Chefs have come up with…" The Wonder Chef paused.

"…Yes?" asked Regal.

"You should have some lunch first. Order something real; the cook here has surprising skill. I'll take these off your hands." The hat emerged again just long enough for the Wonder Chef to tip the remaining fries inside. "Something warm, too. Sustenance, you know, in the cold months." Regal nodded– since the reunion of the worlds, seasons had returned to Sylvarant and Tethe'alla, and winter was now covering Meltokio with snow and bitter wind.

"I'll see you again," said Regal, as the Wonder Chef stood up.

"Oh yes, count on it. But I won't teach you much." He looked Regal in the eyes, and for a moment Bryant saw a deep wisdom, like the memories of stars and the dreams of gods. "In all honesty, Lord Bryant, think back far enough and you'll find all you could ever need to know." The moment passed. "Waiter!"

Regal swiftly pulled his hood back up as the possible-half-dwarf returned. "You could warn me first."

The Wonder Chef took no notice. "Get this mysterious, nameless rogue some beef stew, would you? He's going on a quest to fulfil his destiny and conquer an unknown villain."

The man scribbled on his notepad. "Anything to drink?"  
  
"I should bloody well think so."


	2. A Taste of Things to Come

**A Wok of Infinite Light**

_A Taste of Things to Come_

Regal left the restaurant with his cloak tightly wrapped around him, and only partly for the camouflage it afforded. The long avenues of Meltokio funnelled the bitterly cold wind like a river held water, and for some reason the clear, sunny sky above did little to warm those foolish enough to leave their houses. Rumour said that the coliseum had been closed after the Dragon Knight defeated itself in the final round. Firebreath is a dangerous thing with an unexpected cross-breeze.

The Wonder Chef had been quite right to pick that stew for Regal, he felt strong enough to fight off an ox, and irked enough to seek out an entire kitchen's worth of Dark Chefs. The trouble was that he didn't know how to begin his search, and he hadn't learned much from their cryptic meeting.

Perhaps what he needed was an ally who paid closer attention to rumours, gossip, and news of far-off places, the kind of information no one could possibly have the slightest use for, beyond the satisfaction of strange, reptilian urges to know the secrets of every living being on the planet...

Racing up to the third tier of Meltokio (and not even beginning to sweat, thanks to long training and the new season) Regal took a right turn into the upper-class quarter of the city, sprinted through several sets of gilded gates, and hammered on the door of the second house on his left. On the off chance that it was an admirer dropping off gifts, the owner of the mansion answered the door himself.

"Zelos!" Regal said quickly. "I'm looking for information on the whereabouts of an order of cooks preparing to execute a dark and terrible scheme and immediately thought of you."

The Chosen blinked once, but gave no other hint that this could be odd. "Really? Sure, c'mon in." When there was a solid wall again safely between them and the harsh weather, he noticed the change. "Hey, Regal, you lost the shackles. Still only fight with your feet?"

Bryant looked down at his unbound hands, and then questioningly at Zelos. "Indeed."

"Glad to hear it. Someone's got to hold up morality in this world, and it's not gonna be me. You want to tell me more about these Cooks of Evil?"

It took a depressingly short time to fill Zelos in on everything Regal knew about the Dark Chefs, and even less time to remind him of what they had learned of the Wonder Chef during their journey. He took literally no time at all to mention the possibility of becoming the next Wonder Chef, preferring to pretend that no such thing had ever been said.

"No kidding? I don't remember any of this stuff," said Zelos, reclining on something that wasn't quite a _chaise longue_, but certainly extended further than an ordinary chair had any right to do. "And even though his whole family can't find these guys, you think I might know something?"

"You or one of your peers," said Regal.

"They're yours too, your grand dukeishness," Zelos reminded him.

"Not for a great many years. Nothing is occurring to you?"

"Well, keep in mind just how much I hear per day. Besides, rumours are just a hobby for me. You want someone who deals in them, talk to the king's advisor. Better yet, get Mizuho on your side."

Regal shook his head. "The Dark Chefs are too well-arrayed against inquisitive organisations."

"Blast. I could really use something to show Sheena I haven't gotten complacent since Lloyd patched these continents back up. She gets tetchy some days when she goes into Igaguri-Chief-of-the-village mode. Plus the king is telling me we need to cement our alliances with the other countries out there, and–"

"Zelos, please, you know my disinterest in political matters," said Regal.

"You want to be there?" asked Zelos, abruptly.

"...For what?"

"The sealing of the alliance," Zelos replied.

"Oh. If you insist, I suppose there could be benefits to the presence of Duke Bryant," said Regal.

"Great. Well, let's see if there's anyone in Meltokio with a clue to spare."

* * *

Stunningly, not even the maids at the castle, who could likely have survived on gossip for several weeks without water, had heard of either raid on the Lezareno shipments or anything that could have been Dark Chef activities.

"Now, I did hear the most _amazing_ thing about milady Worthington, you'll never believe this, I couldn't at first but it's the goddess's truth, on my honor, _they_ do say that every weeknight she–"

"Thank you," said Regal, "but we must move on."

"Well if you _really_ must I'll not keep you here, oh dear me no, it'd just be _awful_ if someone started saying I was waylaying lords in the south corridor, don't know _where_ I'd put my face and you do know what they say–"

"No, but I've been piecing it together all afternoon," said Regal. "Chosen?"

"Right," said Zelos, and he politely pushed past the breathless maid, waving Regal on while he bowed out of the 'conversation'. "So sorry, but I'd be happy to hear about Lady Worthington another time."

When they were safely around the corner, Regal leaned against a pillar and tried to release his annoyance in a sigh. "This is how the servants live?"

"Nah, just how they pass time," said Zelos.

Regal gave the red-haired man a calculating look. "_That's_ it," he realised. "You didn't even try her. No mention of 'beauteous one' in the slightest."

"Hey, even I can have too much chatty," said Zelos, defensively, but for some reason the feeling persisted. "Weird that we wouldn't have heard even a rumour yet. Not one. It's like these Dark Chefs don't _want_ to be found."

"You find that weird?" Regal repeated, bemused.

"I guess there's no chance they'd answer a direct command that all Dark Chefs gather in Meltokio Square tomorrow morning?" Zelos went on.

"It's a slightly insane concept," said Regal.

"Well, I _am_ the Chosen of Mana. Hmm... we're pretty much stuck, aren't we?"

"We're a 'we' now?" Regal asked. "This is my desti– my business. You don't need to concern yourself more than you already have."

"Hey, what else am I going to do? It's only a matter of time before the King revokes the rank of the Chosen anyway," said Zelos.

Regal sighed. "If you could give me even one lead to follow, I would consider that more than enough help."

"Well..." Zelos sat down at the base of a staircase, wearing the deeply-thoughtful expression that looked so unusual on him. "Maybe we should look closer at what we already know. For example, what did they steal from Lezareno?"

"One shipment was entirely meat, mostly beef, going to Sybak; their usual herds are still recovering from the disruption of mana. The other was a variety of vegetables and grains, and would have been on course for Palmacosta if the Dark Chefs had given it a chance," said Regal.

"Hard to pick out a trend from two things that are totally different. There wasn't anything unusual about either one of those, or something that would set them apart from your other deliveries?" asked Zelos.

"Not really, except for being entirely foodstuffs–"

"I love that word," Zelos interjected. "That and 'topography'."

"–And there are others of the same composition that weren't touched," Regal finished.

"Wait... Palmacosta and Sybak? The best way to get to either of those is by sea, right?"

Regal recollected what reports he had bothered to read before hearing about the nature of the thieves (and event that had reorganised his priorities considerably to include 'deny fate' and 'find crazy man with funny hat'). "Yes. Both shipments were taken at the docks at night, before they could be loaded onto vessels."

Zelos stood and struck a heroic pose. "The Chosen of Mana does it again. You're dealing with pre-emptive pirates. Schedule another shipment by sea, make sure it's all food, and we've got ourselves a cheftrap. I recommend we use lots of cheese, just for the irony."

"The word 'we' is popping up rather a lot. What makes you think you're coming along?"

"Chosen of Mana," Zelos reminded him.

"I do hope you end up at a lower rank than Duke," Regal muttered.

* * *

There was a small Lezareno branch in Meltokio, and they had a near-future schedule for nearly every dock on the Tethe'allan continents. By luck, fate, or a deity who thought life on the new world needed a little more stirring up, there was already a cargo ship scheduled to make a run out to Iselia the next day, and it was currently docked at the new Lezareno Shipping Port near Altamira. It was a long-range vessel, preparing for a long run to several ports, distributing goods as needed.

"You're sure about this?" asked Zelos, steering his modified EC across the waves without enthusiasm.

"You did insist on coming along," Regal said.

"Okay, but if I hadn't, how would you have reached Altamira in time?"

"Now you're going to argue that you were forced to force me to bring you along?"

"Mostly I'm hoping that you'll introduce me to any particularly exquisite ladies working at the Lezareno Port," Zelos said. Regal just watched the waves race past them, waiting to see if any of his guesses about the 'outgoing' Chosen would be proven true. "...Just kidding," he added nonchalantly, when he decided that Regal wasn't going to comment. Bryant smirked, out of Zelos' sight.

Sailing from the dock at the Grand Bridge to the new mountain pass took no more than three hours, but they lost quite a bit of time convincing the workers to let them through. The construction of an ocean pass to encourage trading and travel was actually one of Mizuho's ideas, but Meltokio was supplying most of the workers, and they were exceptionally stubborn.

This might have been partly to do with the pass not actually being finished, or for that matter, remotely safe, but the sight of Zelos' Cruxis Crystal, his personal EC, and Regal's ducal crest eventually ganged up and triggered their instinct to bow their heads and say "Yes, m'lord."

"Whenever I use ducal prerogative I feel the need to scrub my hands off," Regal remarked as they took off into the mountains.

"Not around me, thanks, I like this boat without bloodstains," said Zelos. He pulled a lever and activated the magicells on the EC's sides, which helped him avoid collisions as they entered the deep river canyons. In the same manner that the EC normally hovered over the water, these new additions would repel walls, jutting rocks, and –although neither of them wanted to test this– possibly divert small avalanches.

The funny thing about zooming through the mountain rapids was that it was _at the same time_ mildly terrifying and totally mind-numbingly dull. Opportunities to be crushed in a fiery wreck against sharp boulder got boring after the thirtieth last-minute veer.

"Have you ever ridden the impact-carts at the Altamira amusement park?" asked Regal, long past being refreshed by the river's spray and on his way to drenched.

"When I was six I triggered a cascading crash that wedged all of them in an elegant geometric shape involving concentric hexagons. For my graduate thesis in university I described the same pattern with a derivational decaying algorithm," said Zelos, swerving around a river stone like a seven-foot meat cleaver. "Even I don't know which parts of that I made up."

"I take it that there aren't any psychological-wellbeing tests to become the Chosen."

"They should put in a ride like this at the park," Zelos went on, ignoring the remark. "Racing down watery rapids. Maybe on a log."

"...Yes," Regal said slowly. "Somehow a log seems like the right thing."

"Lacks any romantic aspect, though. You don't want to leave that out."

"Maybe you don't. Anyway, you've never registered a complaint about the whirling teacups," said Regal. "And I hardly see how _those_ are..." What he _did_ see was the look on Zelos' face, which conveyed plenty of information. "...They're three-seaters anyway, the third passenger would object to–" The look took on a whole new level of smugness. "...Origin save us all."

"You want to make lunch, or what?" asked the grinning Chosen.

"Maybe you should just drive."

"Maybe I should. Whoa– _duck_!" Zelos had belatedly noticed the condition of the pass ahead, namely that it got much smaller very quickly.

The EC raced under the overhanging rocks at ludicrous speed, making Regal wonder for a brief moment if Zelos even knew how to slow the ship down. It was brief because he didn't quite duck fast enough, and dropped the rest of the way to the deck semiconscious.

"And I think that leaves me in charge," Zelos said to no one in particular. The overhanging rocks grew thicker, until the river flowed into the mountains with space just wide enough not to shear the sides off his EC. "Great. A tunnel. And instead of one of my fans from Meltokio in the passenger seat, I've got a concussed duke on the floor. I bet Colette never has this sort of problem."

* * *

They arrived at Altamira not long before dusk. Whether or not this was a remotely good thing was debatable.

"It was really too bad," Zelos told Regal. "You were just telling me how great it was, best chili you had ever tasted, and _WHAM_, falling rock knocked you cold. Stroke of bad luck that the bowl went over the side."

"Tragic," said Regal, in an expertly chosen flattish tone. It was utterly impossible to tell if he was being sarcastic or not. "I expect there will be a place for a vessel this small at the docks– let's not waste any time."

"Great. I'm supposed to navigate a cargo-ship-infested harbour at night?" asked Zelos.

"If you're right about the piratical aspect, we may meet them on open water." This failed to cheer the Chosen up, but his love of challenges kept his foot pressed firmly on the accelerator.

"Pirates," Zelos mumbled. "You do remember Aifread, don't you?"

"What's that sound?" said Regal suddenly, tilting his head to hear faint echoes in the stillness of the night. Say what he might about the many opportunities for fatal incidents in an EC, they were nearly silent at all but the highest speeds.

"It's the sound of your chauffeur saying he'd rather have gone to the casino."

"Quiet!" Regal hissed. Zelos stopped the EC to pay closer attention to their shadowy surroundings. The wind stirred up waves across the harbour, knocking against the cargo transports like a sloshing heartbeat, but he couldn't hear anything else.

"I don't think–" Zelos began.

"An amusing conundrum, this," said another voice, confident and imperious. "On one hand, it was very clever of you to come here. You must have some idea of our goals to guess where we shall strike." At the edge of the deck on the ship nearest Zelos' EC, glowing redness outlined a figure that couldn't have been anything but a Dark Chef. "And on the other hand, it was endlessly foolish, because you believed we would be unprepared. And instead you shall die."

With that, the Dark Chef drew forth a long object, somehow reminiscent of the Wonder Chef's fork. As the midnight-blue figure removed its sheath, the giant knife glittered red, as though it could taste the coming blood (or a perfectly simmered marinara).

"I do not fear edges, no matter their size," Regal proclaimed.

"That is wise," the Chef countered. "There are better things to fear." The sheath was tossed aside, and replaced in the cook's hand by a small, bulky object that could have been a whole, partly prepared chicken. Knife raised high in a mockery of the Wonder Chef's common stance, Regal and Zelos couldn't help but watch the chicken's path as he hurled it through the air...

_CRUNCH!_

And snatched by a scaly blue head that struck with snakelike speed. The horned visage of a dragon had risen behind the Dark Chef, its serpentine neck twisting to catch Bryant in its frenzied gaze. It was armored in dark blue scales to match the chef's uniform, and the red aura that had caught their eye was radiating from the beast's fiery mouth.

"Anything but ravenous dragons," Zelos whispered grimly.

The Dark Chef's knife swung around like a scythe to point at Regal and Zelos, more threatening than any enchanted staff, and his next words were worse than any incantation. Magic can, at worst, unleash storms of fire and stone or the piercing light of conviction. It won't sink its teeth deep into you and shake until you stop struggling, which is definitely instinct for a dragon.

And Regal was learning exactly what kind of sense of humour these Chefs –whichever side they were on– enjoyed, which was why he immediately recognised the command to attack. Eyes wild, the Dark Chef managed to whisper louder than thunder: "_Bon appetit_."


	3. Midnight Snack

**A Wok of Infinite Light**

_Midnight Snack_

The first and easiest decision for Regal to make was deciding what to do about Zelos, who had a habit of taking his half-joking title, Gilgamesh, a bit too seriously. Neither of them could take on such a massive creature as this Dark Chef's pet dragon on their own without extreme risks, and the Chosen of Tethe'alla never paid attention to risks (although he loved complaining about them).

"Zelos! Get this ship into port! I'll keep it distracted!" Regal commanded, leaping over the side of the EC. Predatory animals –and what else could any dragon be– had a tendency to be distracted by thrashing motions, and swimming with greaves on was no easy feat.

"Sheena will kill me if I get eaten," Zelos muttered, throwing a glance at Bryant floating in his wake. He had the feeling he was being Dealt With, as it would take a long time to find space for the EC at this harbour. "...Same if Regal gets eaten," he added. "I'd probably be staring down Efreet. Shadow if I'm unlucky."

The serpent rose from its temporary hiding place between two of the giant transports, flapping thick wings that seemed to rival the clouds in size. Fire roiled in the depths of its throat, as though the beast had swallowed a cartload of coal, and every time it gnashed its teeth, the docks were illuminated with a hint of dragonfire.

Regal's one advantage was that he could dive, thus surrounding himself with a thick layer of water to shield against the flames, but water boiled, and trying to rise again would be a task and a half. The Traubel style was not meant for aquatic battles. He would have to be artful instead.

Artful was never easy when you wanted it to be.

Realising that he was in serious trouble if he just floated about on the surface, where the wind was stirring up waves that constantly splashed him from all sides, Regal reluctantly slid underwater and made for the edge of the docks, where he might be able to climb onto dry land.

A massive object broke the surface of the water, like a spy-hopping whale in reverse. The dragon's head emerged into the penumbral blue world below the waves in a storm of bubbles, giving Regal a moment's obscurity. He kicked powerfully, driving in the direction that he remembered –and hoped and prayed– would take him to the closest ladder. The dragon, now perched on the stern of a docked ship, needed no such propulsion, but could pursue Bryant by stretching its overlong neck.

The shock of the water's cold embrace quickly wore off, as all things do on thirty-ton scaled monsters, and Regal quickly lost his lead. Twisting around in time to see the open jaws racing up behind him, Regal steeled himself and waited for the right moment. A second before being bisected, he dealt a jackknife kick to both rows of fangs, wedging his greave-armored legs into the space.

_Now,_ thought Regal, _if I weren't running out of air, this would be a good starting point._ But the duke had another advantage, one developed over many years of unarmed combat, and many more of what might be best termed armless combat. He had flexibility and full-body muscle tone like the best athletes of all Tethe'alla, and had no trouble levering himself around in a long, vertical arc to drive his heel into the top of the dragon's snout. It snorted at the shock, blowing another cloud of bubbles into the water, and Regal took that next moment to push off again, putting more distance between them.

The dragon's neck had a limit, and Regal was nearly beyond it. That knowledge, plus fury at his insolence, sparked a fiery anger in the serpent, and it decided to give that fire a chance to express itself. Regal glanced back, saw that the scaled head was coming no closer, and paused to watch his plan in action.

Rage is known for causing people trouble at critical moments. The dragon was not used to its prey fighting back, causing harm, and decided that it would have to settle for feasting on that red-haired morsel. The satisfaction of watching this one burn would be much greater. That was likely the only thought in its head as the beast took a deep breath, having lost the air to fuel its flame when Regal delivered his desperate kick.

Underwater, this is a very bad idea.

With much thrashing and great spluttering roars, the dragon yanked its head out of the sea, creating a brief rainstorm in that half of the harbour. Water drained off its horns in a constant downpour, making the infernal predator look, momentarily, like a particularly vengeful version of the Loch Umacy Monster.

Regal, too, breached the waves at that moment, his lungs feeling like they would implode at any moment. The dragon was smart– it wouldn't dive after him again, but Regal had left his scuba equipment at home, and wasn't looking forward to going deeper himself. There had to be some way to reach the ladder (he could see it now, too far to rush and hope) before the dragon cleared its lungs and flamed again.

"You owe me for this!" shouted a familiar voice. "_Air Thrust!_"

The night air around Regal filled with luminous emerald zephyrs that swirled for a moment before diving under the water and merging into a single grass-green orb. It was a brief fusion, only a fraction of a second, and then it exploded in a tremendous burst of air.

Luckily, Bryant's upward momentum ran out before he reached the stratosphere, and he landed with unreal luck on giant heap of sacks that hadn't yet been filled with goods for transport. Zelos was leaning against the sacks lazily, and Regal suspected –once the world stopped spinning and his stomach righted itself– that he had made the heap, too.

"Where did you find all of these?" asked Regal.

"Uh... inside a big crate that may or may not have had the Lezareno Company seal on it."

"You're allowed to use company resources to save lives. And I owe you?"

"Yes," said Zelos.

"You do remember that time in Ymir Forest when the fish was about to–"

"Fine, we're even. I did save you in the Tower of Salvation, y'know."

"And there was that time I covered for you when Sheena came looking that night in Altamira–"

"Okay, okay, I still owe _you!_ Will you just _duck?!_" Zelos dropped flat behind the sack-dune, and Regal rolled quickly to join him in the temporary shelter. It was particularly temporary due to the scouring fire that the dragon had just spewed forth, which washed overhead like a solar flare.

"That's impossible!" Regal said, looking over the top of the smouldering pile when the assault finished. "No dragon has fire of that calibre!"

"That curry must pack quite a punch," Zelos remarked. "Is my hair okay?"

"Unfortunately yes," said Regal grimly. Neither of them had any chance against that sort of blast; even Guardian and Bastion would be of little use.

"Whenever I volunteer for something I always regret it," said Zelos, barely peeking over the top of the pile. The dragon's head wove back and forth, apparently convinced that its human prey had escaped the blast.

How did the Dark Chefs manage to tame a creature of this power? A long blackened line ran across the stone docks, and one of the wooden piers had been blasted apart. One of these dragons would have no trouble destroying a city–

"Wait," said Regal. "...Curry?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. While you were lying on this pile like a concussed fish, that Dark Chef called his pet down for a snack. I could practically smell it from here; he must have put a kilo of red satay in," said Zelos, still mesmerised by the sight of the fiery behemoth.

"Curry..." Regal said slowly, "...is a Recipe of Power."

Zelos looked at him sceptically. "Say what? Did you hit harder than I thought, or what?"

"Quickly, Zelos, tell me about the hunting patterns of dragons," Regal insisted.

"Like I'd remember that? I was a mathematician, not a biologist. I told you before, I just got answers from the girls– hold on, my little helper in bio would have been... Priscilla, now _she_ was a cute one–"

Regal had spent the time while Zelos rambled to lever a cobblestone out of the dock's surface. He now threw it as far from their badly damaged shelter as he could. The instant it clattered on the ground, the dragon's head swung around and unleashed another pyrotechnic catastrophe in that direction.

Zelos gaped. Regal gave him a hard look and stated "If you remember, it would be best to tell me _now_." The Chosen nodded with a sort of terrified enthusiasm.

"Uh... dragons... as soon as they encounter another living thing, they categorize it in one of three ways. Food, fire, or not worth fighting," said Zelos.

"And once it chooses, it won't ever change its mind?" Regal went on. Zelos shook his head. He still hadn't taken his eyes off the place where Regal had thrown his test stone. The rocks were _bubbling_. "Just like sharks," the duke remarked. He caught sight of some construction material that would be en route to Palmacosta in the morning– in particular the pipes for the new drainage system. "All right, I've got an idea."

The dragon grinned when Zelos reappeared from hiding, or at least showed its massive teeth. This one looked much more tender than the bulky blue-furred creature, and perhaps more easily cowed. The dragon stretched its massive wings and beat the air, lifting off the moored ship and crossing the harbour in a matter of moments. Zelos broke into a run and the dragon pursued, folding its wings in to give quicker chase.

As the red-crested human fled past a great pile of hollow iron tubes, it occurred to the dragon to wonder where its companion had got to, and if it might not be a better idea to flame that one before feeding. Its thoughts were interrupted by a shout in Human that it didn't recognise –"_Heaven's Charge!_"– and one of the pipes soared toward it.

The dragon twisted and caught this ungainly projectile lightly in its teeth, searching for the attacker. Regal had found the one space where he couldn't be immediately seen, and put it to his advantage. "_Rising Dragon!_" From directly under the monster's head he dealt a mighty upward kick, forcing its teeth to sink into the thick iron. He hoped it would be thick enough, or else his plan and life were about to hit a crippling obstacle.

Seeing Regal again, the dragon's hopes were more that this insignificant human wouldn't die too quickly in the flames. It breathed out, forgetting for a moment about the lodged pipe, while Regal scrambled for safety. At the back of the dragon's throat, the heat was intense enough to quickly melt away the first layer of iron, but then the pipe allowed those flames to escape, albeit a different route.

Zelos watched the dragon's fire blast out to either side of its mouth, looking a bit like someone trying to smoke two cigars at once and letting them get out of control. "Reminds me of that time I saw a fire-eater playing the flute," he remarked, watching the spectacle with the air of an art critic.

"Indeed. Now, you keep it busy," said Regal, patting Zelos bracingly on the shoulder as he ran past. The Chosen spun, full of indignation (or at least Thunder Blade).

"What? I thought now we did the thing!"

"Not yet!" Regal called over his shoulder. "I'll be back quickly!"

Regal turned sharply into a warehouse, vanishing from sight, and Zelos turned back to face the enraged dragon. Its fire was unusable for now, but according to Regal that wasn't a threat to him anyway. Those clawed feet were scary enough, and a good whack of its heavy tail would probably reduce the Chosen to something that could be sucked through that pipe like soup through a straw.

"Why is it that my bravest moments are always the ones when no one's watching?" Zelos muttered to himself, watching the dragon's movements closely. If he could just avoid getting pulverized for the next few minutes, this night might end without too much more pain. The dragon struck.

"For example," Zelos went on, rolling away from the clawed assault, "there was the bit where I lied outright to Pronyma over and over again before double-crossing the fallen hero Mithos Yggdrasill." Another kick hit some structural part of a building, and the Chosen only nearly avoided being violently shortened by wreckage. "And the time I fought the Sliver outside Flanoir after it knocked everyone else senseless."

"_Grrrhhrraaarrr!_" the dragon snarled, almost musically. It seemed to be trying to chew through its makeshift muzzle, something that Zelos didn't intend to see happen. He drew the Last Fencer, the sword Seles had given to him, and rushed the beast without the slightest falter in his step.

"This whole 'distract myself from imminent doom' thing seems to be working," the Chosen remarked. He had succeeded in getting under the dragon, as its vision was still obscured by the giant pipe, and set about making the world a safer place for prey like himself. With satisfying _shlick_ sounds, he sheared off several of the dragon's serrated claws, then started running further under again before it noticed his presence. "And let's not forget saving everyone in the Tower of Salvation... oh, goddess."

Wilder dove to the side, barely escaping being crushed by the dragon as it dropped its massive body to the ground, but then the creature's wing slammed down too, forming a wall in his path. Zelos held out the Last Fencer as the wing swept toward him, but its fearsome bite was, to this beast, no worse than a dart to someone like Regal.

The dragon smashed Zelos with its wing and hurled him ahead before pivoting with unexpected speed and delivering a shattering blow with its tail. He cruised and tumbled across the stones, skidding painfully– or at least it would have been painful if he had still been conscious. Zelos limply skidded to a halt against the remains of a shattered wall.

With a horrendous metallic shriek, the dragon's jaws closed through the red-hot pipe, cleaving it into three pieces. It spat out the middle one, happy to have its jaws freely mobile again. Flicking out the last fragments of iron with its tongue, the dragon stalked towards Zelos' unmoving body. It could taste his blood on the night wind...

A strong hand pressed firmly against the Chosen's chest. "I have you," Regal said soothingly, kneeling at Zelos' side. "_Grand Healer!_" Light flared from Bryant's hand, and Zelos awoke with an expression that suggested he wished he hadn't. "Time to do the thing."

"Oh, at _last_," Zelos groaned. "Do I have to get up?"

"Don't move, just do it," said Regal. "And remember, no last spire."

"I'll do my best," Zelos murmured, closing his eyes. He looked exhausted enough that Regal almost thought he had fallen asleep, but then the earth-brown magic circles were emblazoned on the ground around him. Regal stood up, ready to protect Zelos as well as he could.

The dragon tried to gouge at them both with its front arm, but all the claws on that foot were cut back by more than a foot, and Regal repelled the attack with a single kick. It turned, ready to try the tail-smash again, but with a shout of "_Bastion!_" Regal and his guardian shield held their ground.

"Now," Zelos said quietly. Regal ran straight ahead, leapt over the dragon's low-slung head, and dropped like a meteorite.

"_Eagle Fall!_" His greave caught the beast between its horns and drove it to the ground.

"_Grave!_" Zelos' spell discharged, and stony spears burst up around the dragon's head like the hand of the earth itself. With all the control he could muster, Zelos suppressed the last spire that would have driven through the creature's head, leaving it alive. Regal vaulted off the scaled head and scrambled for his fresh-made secret weapon. "Quickly, maybe?" Zelos suggested, seeing that the dragon had already started cracking its prison.

Regal grabbed his waterskin and sprinted back, hurling it between the dragon's giant teeth. The dragon wrenched free of the Grave stones, but not before Regal planted a single light kick on its nose. In surprise, it reflexively licked its snout– but first swallowed. Smirking as the serpent rose to its feet, Regal turned back to face Zelos.

"Uh... hey, Regal?" said Zelos, watching apprehensively. "I don't think it worked."

"Don't worry. There are times when I might get a recipe wrong, but this isn't one of them. And certainly not a cool Fruit Cocktail," said Regal, turning again to watch. The dragon opened its mouth to roar again, but there was something strange about the former furnace-glow of its throat. That light faded to purple, then a shining blue, and at last faded entirely.

"As the Dark Chef gave you fire and fury," Regal told the dragon in a strong, clear voice, "so may I clear those things away. You are not our foe and we are not your prey. Leave this place. Go back to where you belong."

To Zelos' shock, even the fire in the dragon's eyes seemed to have faded. It looked about the harbour, and came to the decision that this was not the home it sought. Mountains and streams and mighty summer storms... Slowly, but with the unstoppable force of continents shifting, the dragon's wings flapped and it took to the starry sky.

"Well I'll be a half-elf's uncle," Zelos said, and started breathing again. "You're really fitting into this whole Wonder Chef role, aren't you?"

"Not for any longer than I have to," Regal said immediately. But he couldn't deny the feeling of absolute victory called up by the sight of the dragon vanishing peacefully into the darkness.

"Oh, _man_," said Zelos, looking out over the water. "Did you have to send it away so fast? I just know I'm not going to like what happens next."

Regal spun and saw the Lezareno cargo ship slicing through the water, already almost a mile from the docks. He growled; a fearsome sound from a duke of Tethe'alla. "They're getting away!"


	4. Let Simmer

**A Wok of Infinite Light**

_Add Heroes, Villains, Ancient Godly Ceremony, and Let Simmer_

Regal ignored the constant drone of Zelos' complaints as they left the Altamira Port. The Chosen's mutterings had a great deal in common with the EC's purring engine, and he could block both out at the same time. Bryant's thoughts were entirely on the faint shadow of the stolen transport out on the water. Between searching for the Wonder Chef and the chase to Altamira, he hadn't slept in more than a full day. That, along with fighting a dragon underwater and being hurled about more than he liked, meant that Regal was having enough trouble just keeping his eyes focused.

Some new idea from a lower layer of consciousness fought its way to the surface and poked Regal's brain until he took notice. "...I realise we're moving at high speed, but should we be able to hear this EC humming like that?"

"_No_," Zelos replied darkly. "You're going to wear her out at this rate. And that ship's got a full load of fuel."

"Do you have a recommendation?" Regal asked, sounding a little annoyed.

"A few. Unfortunately, Sheena's not here to call in Undine, so we're limited to trying to catch up with them and getting stranded in the middle of the ocean when my little EC here dies, or..."

"Or what?"

"Not doing that. I recommend the second one."

Regal thought carefully– he wasn't awake enough to go for speed, and had to make do with thoroughness. But after years in prison, and long battles in the coliseum where hundreds of people cheered for his death, Regal was a good thinker even when on the verge of collapse. Ideas that were so creative they bordered on sadistic formed in his head.

"Can you cast magic at this range?" he asked the Chosen.

"What? ...Yeah," Zelos decided, confused by the question. "But it's not like I can just Air Thrust them to bits, even at full strength, and I'll lose some power just sending it so far."

"And where are the fuel charges?" Regal continued, apparently uninterested in anything but the initial 'yeah'.

"On a big thing like that? In the middle at the bottom, if the engineers had any sense–"

"Good to know, but I meant on this ship," Bryant said flatly.

"Regal," Zelos said as he touched the control panel, "you're starting to freak me out." A portion of the EC's back hull slid open, and an array of six mana cells rose into the open air, each connected to an Exsphere power converter. Only two of the cylinders were glowing, and one grew dimmer by the moment. "Don't touch, you won't like what happens."

"These are nonelemental mana?"

"Just like mom used to make," Zelos quipped. He was losing faith in Regal's mental stability.

"Thunder Blade on that transport, then," Regal commanded him, and a president-duke has a very good commanding voice. "As close to the middle as you can get it."

"Whatever you say, your grace," Zelos agreed, watching carefully. Regal's face didn't so much as twitch at 'your grace', final proof that he was exhausted out of his mind. The Chosen tried to sense the distant ship in mana, and began the spellcasting when he was certain that he wasn't targeting a whale or some kind of reef. Regal watched him intently, unnerving enough that Zelos had to close his eyes, until the Chosen shouted his customary (and now somewhat ironic) battle cry: "Don't run!"

Bryant moved like a twin-headed snake, one hand pressing firmly against Zelos' Exsphere, his other grabbing hold of the mostly-discharged power cell. Regal glowed with silver light that soon turned purple as the unknowing Chosen shouted "_Thunder Blade!_"

The depths of newly formed clouds blazed violet-white and a sixty-foot sword of focused lightning fell from within, lancing through the Dark-Chef-controlled carrier's centre before exploding in a fog of sparks. Every light on the distant ship went dark –not that there had been many on to begin with– and by the time the steam cloud had cleared, it was dead in the water.

"Good," Regal growled.

"_That_ was some of my finest work," Zelos said, grinning like an idiot. He turned around to accept congratulations from the duke and noticed what had happened to the fifth mana cylinder. Now only the sixth was powering the EC's propulsion, but Regal had a slightly overdone look about him...

Slowly, like an oak trying to support a herd of elephants among one half of its branches, he toppled to the deck for the second time in one day. _Once again_, the remaining conscious passenger thought to himself, _the great Zelos Wilder is in charge of deciding what happens next. ...Shame I have morals and stuff._

* * *

When Regal's eyes opened, he had the strange sensation that he was lying against a wall, looking at the night sky straight ahead, and someone had lined his mouth with carpenter's glue. These first two righted themselves, and he realised he was looking up at the side hull of the stolen transport. The third feeling, unfortunately, failed to fade with its friends.

"Feeling any better?" asked Zelos, apparently relaxing against the other side of the has been worse in my life," Regal decided.

"You're welcome," Zelos replied tersely.

"We've caught up to them?" he asked, slowly pulling himself up, and getting it right on the third attempt.

"Just took some creative use of Eruption," said Zelos. "I'll send the bill for damages to your office when we're done here. My dear little EC got toasted in the stern."

"The Dark Chefs didn't notice?"

"They're busy trying to find the spare fuel charges without tripping over each other with those giant steak knives, I expect."

"And who force-fed me plastic sealant?" asked Regal.

"It's _cream stew_," Zelos snapped. "Sheesh, did you take classes in being ungrateful, or does it just come naturally to dukes? Anyway, I found that little crate of food you brought along, and I remembered that night in Torent–"

"Yes, I remember," Bryant said. When they got separated from the others in the twisty forest and Lloyd suffered terrible wounds against a gold dragon, Colette had kept him alive overnight with cream stew. Whenever the boy had dropped out of consciousness, the aroma of the stew brought him back for one more taste, which in turn gave him the strength to hold on a bit longer.

Regal looked up at the stricken transport beside the EC, at the new bandages where his hand had been burnt by the mana cell, at the shipboard cooker (still with the last of the stew at the bottom), and the sullen Chosen vaguely, more or less, sort of by his side. "If I took the time to thank you that you deserve, Zelos," the duke decided, "we wouldn't have any left over to give those Dark Chefs in there the kicking they so thoroughly deserve."

Wilder grinned. "That's good enough for me. How do we get up there?"

"Give the magic a rest," Regal said, before Zelos could even pick a spell. "I'll handle this one." The duke looked up the smooth, sheer metal surface, took a deep breath– and turned back for one last ladleful of cream stew. "...It's actually quite good. Try adding carrots next time."

"...Right," Zelos agreed, partly amused and partly weirded out.

Regal faced the towering ship again, tapped his old Diamond Shell greaves together, and pounced like a Lobo from Celsius' lands. The supremely hard leg guards, driven by Regal's extrahuman strength, nearly punctured the side of the ship, creating sharply defined dents like a baseball hitting a soufflé. That would have been impressive enough, but Regal kept going, using the first indentations as stepping stones.

_It's a little like when Sheena or Orochi drops in a forest and does that elbow-crawl to sneak up on someone,_ Zelos decided. He tilted his head back to keep track of the ascending duke. _...Only vertical._ Once Regal had a good head start, Zelos leapt over the EC's side and landed on the makeshift steps. He had climbed a mountain or two in his life, and they weren't nearly so organised as a determined Duke Bryant.

* * *

"I don't understand," the Sous-chef growled as the auxiliary generator hummed to life. All the corridor lamps returned to full strength, bathing the lower decks of the ship in bright artificial light. "If the main engines back there had all been done _á flambé_, why wasn't there even a hole in the ship?"

Dior, first-ranked after the lieutenant, tried to sigh without letting anyone notice. "Lightning doesn't cut, sir. But when as much mana as they must have thrown at us gets behind a bunch of electrons and pushes, there's not much that can really stop it. That Thunder Blade would have had us trapped if we hadn't got this backup system working.

The Sous-chef gave Dior a grudgingly approving look. "You know your way around a ship."

"I was a travelling cook before I found the Dark Chefs," said Dior, saluting. "You pick these things up on occasion."

"I wish the others did so as well. _Achtung_, you lot!" The Sous-chef didn't speak that dialect that was uncommon even among dwarves, but it had a certain power to grab attention. "With this ship's trove, we'll get rewards like most of you can't believe. Maybe even seats at the First Table for the Grand Feasts."

"The rumours are true, then?" asked one of the younger Dark Chefs. Dior scoffed.

"Of course," said the Sous-chef.

"Do you think we'd need this huge hold of meat if they weren't?" Dior added. The other six Dark Chefs, initiates under the Sous-chef's command, perfectly demonstrated the Glare of Despising the Know-It-All. "Sir, I recommend we return to the bridge and get back on course for Palmacosta." The Sous-chef nodded, and started them marching (not that chefs march very well, or for that matter, at all).

"I still don't see why we didn't just let them deliver the meat to Palmacosta to start with and save us the trip," one of the apprentices grumbled.

"Because that would break our previous pattern, which would in turn make it all too clear to the One–" Dior began

"Speak not of that," the Sous-chef said sharply.

His second-in-command nodded. "...Doing so would make it very clear to our enemies that we are operating out of Palmacosta, and we have had too many close calls already."

Another initiate, rather older and nearing the end of his apprenticeship, groaned. "I remember _that_. That blasted Chosen girl came in and asked to be a _waitress_, for Martel's sake. I thought I was going to have to kill myself with a cleaver."

"Just get to the engine room and get us on course again," said the Sous-chef, who had no concept of the dangers of irony. "There will be no one to stop us this time–"

The door directly ahead of them slammed open so hard that it dented the bulkhead, revealing Regal Bryant in a combat stance that screamed 'None shall pass'. Some distance behind him, volcano-red hair indicated that Tethe'alla's Chosen, Zelos, was coming to back him up. The Sous-chef, who was quite a good leader, evil cook or not, came to an immediate decision.

"Dior, lead the others to the longboat and return to the base. I will return after dealing with these two, but do not wait for me." His second nodded in confirmation and silently indicated that this would be an excellent time for the apprentices to turn around and run very fast.

"Shall we take him?" said Zelos, stopping beside Regal and taking hold of his sword.

Regal paused to watch his foe before answering. The Sous-chef had produced his weapon, which he held at arm's length, straight out from his chest, in the manner of a formal swordsman. With the other hand, he slid off its scabbard reverently.

"No," Regal decided.

"...A spoon?" said the Chosen, blinking in his usual 'am I hallucinating' manner. "You're going to take Regal on with a giant sp–"

The Sous-chef swung his weapon, and Zelos knew lethal force when he saw it. He ducked under the wide metal disk, on the basis that even a spoon could cause trouble when it was five feet long –_CRrrrnNK!_– and was immensely glad that he had done so when its razor edge tore several inches into the steel doorframe.

"Go on and stop the others," Regal continued calmly. "My opponent may wield whatever he wishes, but victory is my specialty, and I will serve it to perfection."

"Only vengeance will be served today, Bryant," the Sous-chef countered.

Zelos stared at the Dark Chef, then his companion, neither of whom appeared to be anywhere near collapsing in fits of laughter. "_You're all insane!_" he roared.

"Go!" Regal insisted. Both he and Zelos moved simultaneously, and as Regal was the one attempting to plant his boot on the Sous-chef's face, Zelos was allowed to slip by.

The corridor was a cramped place to battle, but one of the lesser-known advantages of leg-based combat is that it can adjust very easily to a narrow field. In contrast, the Dark Chef's blade couldn't be swung through a large arc without first having to tear through the walls, or possibly the ceiling. Regal was able to keep his opponent of the defensive with direct thrusting kicks, keeping the weapon too busy in front to strike properly.

Zelos reached the engine room, which was properly lit again but still almost silent. Two levels above, beyond a twisted path of catwalks, he caught the last glimpse of blue cape vanishing through a door. The Dark Chefs, thankfully, didn't have Exspheres, and that gave him a tremendous advantage, one that he immediately put towards leaping up two decks and resuming the chase.

The Sous-chef backed off several steps further than necessary as Regal performed the mighty axe-thrust kick of the Traubel style. It was a risky move, putting him off-balance if it missed, and now he had done just that, with a razor spoon incoming at head height. Rolling onto his back, Regal deflected the blade upwards with his Diamond Shell, and then used the other leg to transfer the Dark Chef's momentum from a charge to uncontrolled flight. He landed in a crumpled heap, and Regal followed. A final blast –"_Heaven's Charge!_"– put the Sous-chef out of the realm of the conscious for several hours.

Dior hadn't led the others far beyond the engine room when Zelos caught up. Magic was little use against most fleeing enemies, and so he had drawn the Last Fencer again. 'Drawn' was perhaps too strong a term; it stuck in the hull beside Dior's head and quivered as a thrown sword should. The lieutenant-chef froze, not even turning around, but keeping a careful ear on the sound of her subordinates charging ahead.

"Ah, you know the universal sign for 'stop'," Zelos said approvingly.

"You're the Chosen of Mana, Zelos Wilder," said Dior.

"That's right. I'm planning to bring out the Special Edition Me sometime in the spring, but for now this one'll have to do."

"Oh, no, I'm quite pleased." Zelos frowned. Something had changed in the Dark Chef's voice. She turned around and smiled, trying to hide her contempt. "Your reputation precedes you," Dior added sweetly.

Zelos' demeanour changed instantly. "Wow, I didn't know the Dark Chefs were the type to take hostages. Especially not ones as gorgeous as you."

Dior's smile intensified, until it forcibly brought to mind images of sunlight on fields of pink roses. "We aren't."

Her first punch was the effective sort, rather than the traditional, and went straight to the throat. While Zelos choked, she brought her giant knife around and smacked him across the face with its oaken handle, then dealt a pair of sound thumps to his stomach and back. Confident that he would be a while in getting back up, Dior ran ahead, sheared the handle off the inside of the next door, and slammed it shut.

* * *

Just past dawn, battered and exhausted, Zelos brought the Lezareno cargo ship _Combatir_ into Izoold's heavily built-up port without breaking too much of the docks or the hull. It hadn't been intended to go that way, but there were worse places than the closest city to New Palmacosta to bring a giant shipment of food, and few at all that could be reached with only thirty percent fuel.

He and Regal staggered down the gangplank and onto dry land with endless thanks to Martel, and immediately made their way to the inn. No one questioned the two well-known heroes, nor the giant ship they had left at the new dock, although it became the subject of gossip for the rest of the week. (By the time the story reached Hima, the ship had wings, the head of a dragon, and flew through the air by the power of a mysterious black orb given to Regal by a race of immortals that lived on a hidden island on the ocean.)

After handing the senseless Dark Chef over to the people of the village for safekeeping, the two made their way silently to the outskirts and the haven of the inn. The innkeeper knew they would pay in the morning, whether he accepted money or not, and so simply allowed the two to stagger into one of the larger rooms and collapse, surrendering to exhaustion.

Regal awoke in the afternoon to the scent of the most heavenly risotto, and knew that it could not realistically have been Zelos who made it. He rose from his bed and found the door on his second try. In the inn's main room, the Chosen was devouring the excellent rice dish with untold gusto, and sitting by the fire was the one Regal knew they had to have found.

"Morning, Regal!" Genis chirped. "You want some ri–"

"Please. Immediately," Regal said. "What are you doing here?"

"And it's afternoon, not morning," Zelos interjected, his voice muffled by the risotto.

"I'm sure dukes can fix that sort of thing when they need to," said Regal, taking a seat. The innkeeper hovered nearby, feeling that heroes shouldn't have to feed themselves, but eventually he realised that he was going to remain ignored, and wandered off to buy more rice and cheese.

"I'm meeting Raine near here soon," said Genis, handing Regal his dish. "We're still helping villages rebuild and dispelling anti-half-elf feelings wherever we can, but you know what Raine gets like when she hears about an undiscovered ruin. Honestly, all I've heard about for the last three weeks is that darn wok."

Regal's blood went cold. Zelos nearly bit through his spoon. They both coughed nonchalantly and tried to wear expressions of polite curiosity. Doing this in unison tipped Genis off, as well as their simultaneous question: "What wok?"

The little Sage decided he wasn't going to get anywhere with his own questions until he answered at least a few of theirs. "The Wok of Infinite Light... or something like that. Raine says an ancient empire used to exist on the islands between Izoold and Palmacosta, but they tried to take control of Efreet and Undine without vows or pacts. They ended up getting most of their empire blown up and submerged under the Palmacosta Sea."

"And they had a special wok?" Regal prompted.

"Yup. A sort of altar you could cook with, I think. They believed in their own gods, and used special feasts to pray to them," said Genis, watching their reactions closely.

"Ahhhh, I thought we had finished with all these gods," Zelos moaned.

"You're looking for the Wok too?" Genis asked, somewhat hopefully. He didn't think the answer would be anything so harmless as that.

"If we're lucky," said Regal, "we may be searching for those who are searching for it."

"And what if you're _not_ lucky?" the warlock pressed on.

"Then we're after the guys who've already got it, and they're not the friendly sort," Zelos finished. Regal explained everything, starting with the original piracy and leading through to their arrival in Izoold. By the time he was finished, the remaining food was gone, and the innkeeper had returned with sacks of supplies and a long speech prepared to ask Genis to make anything and everything he could.

"Oh, man! If I had known that was a Dark Chef boat I saw on the water last night, I could have blasted them," Genis groaned. "But I did see that they were heading towards New Palmacosta."

"That's enough help to keep up going," said Regal gratefully. He began to stand, but Genis leapt up first.

"No, wait. You said they kept stealing lots of meat?" He ran his hand through his hair several times, apparently murmuring fragments of thoughts to himself. "Meat... Palmacosta gets plenty of fish, so why would they need to steal... it's just like...!" Genis darted off to his own room and returned with the sort of massive ancient tome he and Raine tended to think of as a textbook. "There was a big ritual with the Wok that used lots of meat, some kind of supreme stew that they used to..." He placed the book on the floor – the only flat surface in the inn big enough to hold it, aside from a bed– and flipped pages frantically.

"The one thing that I really can't stand is when people know more than I do and don't tell me," said Zelos, glaring at the half-elf boy.

"You can't stand anyone?" Regal said, apparently thinking this was the same thing.

"Right, right," Genis murmured. "And the stew was said to give life to the dead, but in doing so they made themselves terribly vulnerable to the One..."

"The One?" Regal repeated. He had long realised that the best way to get information out of either Sage when they were in research mode was to occasionally repeat an ominous phrase and let them explain all they wanted.

"The Silver-Crowned One, whose arrival at the height of ceremony could break their power and sever the link to the gods," Genis said. It wasn't a quick, why-can't-you-just-pay-attention response, either; he was as intrigued as Regal. "A sort of anti-chef. And if you're playing the role it sounds like you are..."

"Should we be shopping for a new Mythril Circlet, Regal?" asked Zelos, smirking.

"Man, you get everything wrong, don't you?" Genis scoffed.

"Hey! Who thought up the scheme to steal Aionis from Cruxis, then?"

"I think I understand," said Regal, slowly. He couldn't keep from smiling, which showed Genis that the duke had guessed right. "You should probably stay here, Genis. I think the Dark Chefs would be all too happy to capture one of your skills."

"I take it that means we're _not_ staying here," said Zelos. "Well, I might as well see this through to the end. We're going to Palmacosta, right? There aren't any good places for ruins around here or the other continent until Asgard."

"You get yourselves over there," said Genis. "I'll handle the message."

* * *

The caves here were too hot for comfort, but Vahgner forced himself to imagine it as a permanent sauna, and knowing the source of so much heat and moisture made anything bearable. This was the Hall of Nourishing, where row upon row of firepits and ovens had lain cold for millennia, centuries before the Ancient War. Now more than half of the altars were manned by Dark Chefs working in continuing shifts, preparing endless dishes for their cause, ever searching for the Recipes of Power.

All glory for the Dark Chef Alliance.

Vahgner stopped beside a bubbling pot of miso stew. The aroma was divine, and he had no doubt that it would taste the same, but still it lacked the restorative powers of the Wonder Chef's recipe, and so could not be altered, as Dior had done most famously with her Berserker's Curry. The chef assigned to this station returned to his work with renewed fervour upon receiving Vahgner's nod of approval.

This deep underground, echoes could travel a long way, and now he heard the soft crash of the ancient door unsealing itself, to allow more members of the Alliance entry to the stronghold. There seemed to be a slight scuffling sound, but having slipped on the slick, damp stones himself this morning, Vahgner ignored it.

Then came something he couldn't possibly force out of his mind– the foul acridity of burning. He charged across the vast chamber, seeking the offending pot by his nose alone, and was stunned to see who was working there.

"Marcus? But you're one of the best! How could you let this happen?!"

The chef was understandably shocked, and stared at the blackened tenderloin dully. "It couldn't have," he gabbled. "I was watching, I was being careful, the temperature just... just..."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Vahgner. "You're probably overworked. Just call in Simone–"

With a horrendously squelchy blast, a pressure cooker three columns over exploded, sending chili in a giant spray that nearly reached the high ceiling. Everyone turned to Vahgner, waiting to see his reaction, but the apoplectic fury shaping his face also made some of them think of finding shelter. Around the cavern, a cascade of cooking dishes began to go terribly awry, sending thick smoke into the air.

In the silence, three sets of boots could he heard coming out of the entrance tunnel and into the steam-fogged cavern. They belonged to a trio of intruders who stopped just beyond the door, apparently waiting to be acknowledged. Two were the type who never got lost in the crowd, and while he recognised the Chosen, Wilder, he cursed Dior for not giving a description of the Potential to check against this unknown blue-haired man. The last was cloaked in rough brown material, and Vahgner was well-read enough to be worried by that most of all.

"Who..." Vahgner seethed, "...are _you_?"

The cloaked one, standing between and slightly ahead of the other two, stuck an arm out from under unornamented mantle, clutching the mythical Phoenix Rod. Rather arbitrarily, it pointed at a nearby frying steak, which burst dramatically into flames.

Now she let the rest of the cloak fall away, revealing locks of moon-bright silver hair that could never have been found on an ordinary human. "I am Raine Sage," she announced, bringing the Phoenix Rod about to point at Vahgner. "I am the One, and I have come for you all."


	5. Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Wok

**A Wok of Infinite Light**

_Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Wok_

Raine's face remained cold and unforgiving –a specialty of hers, having much in common with her pork cutlets– as pandemonium took hold of the Hall of Nourishing. Vahgner's subordinates had been taught to fear the legend of the Silver-crowned One, but no one at the rank of Sous-chef or above really believed it. Of course, her show of influence so far had been quite disconcerting...

"What do we do, sir? It's the One!" Marcus yelped, grabbing Vahgner's arm frantically.

The six-star Chef kept any reservations from his face as he gave the order. "Retreat! The Alliance has long been prepared for this day– retreat to the inner sanctum!"

Zelos looked sidelong at Regal. "This has got to be the first time a schoolteacher has been more feared than the Chosen of Mana and a battle-hardened duke."

"Not among our circle of friends," Bryant pointed out, and Zelos shrugged, conceding that Raine Sage had scared all of them at one time or another. He watched the Dark Chefs flee, and wondered if it was wise to let them escape– but at the same time, he knew that they would never have defeated Cruxis by battling one angel at a time, and it would be much better to pick the time and place for their confrontations.

It was also good to know that the tunnel they had just come down was the only way out.

"Such a fascinating design," said Raine, who had dashed over to one of the oven-altars and knelt beside it as soon as the last Dark Chef was out of sight. She understood her role to play, but it couldn't keep her focused in the face of relics like these. "They must have been masters of the forge to create implements like this– look! A polycarbonate spreading knife!"

"They must have been expecting you," Zelos muttered. "And your unique shortcake."

"What curious runes... its seems the craftsman named it 'Frostingdeath'..."

"There are three doors out of this room, not counting the one we just came through," said Regal, on the lookout for surprises. "The Dark Chefs are likely in greatest numbers beyond the passage they fled through; I recommend we investigate the others first."

"Great plan," said Zelos, lacking somewhat in sincerity. He nodded in Raine's direction. "With the one problem left that we'll need to bring the Mad Archaeologist along in case of ambush."

Regal approached her cautiously, and tapped her on the shoulder with a single finger. "Professor, we should move on."

"_Marvellous!_" Raine gushed, sweeping a two-foot, diamond-edged cleaver past his face (probably unintentionally, although it had a definite upside in making Regal leap onto a marble cutting board two columns over). "I was aware that a great deal of magitechnology had been lost in the division of the worlds, but this is one of the most significant finds of our times! The people who created this temple must have had an intentionally low-tech society, to develop method of forging and masonry of this level– suggesting," she went on, with the look of one savouring the most delectable of delicacies, "that they may have even been aware of the vulnerability and hazards inherent to magitechnology!"

"Brilliant," said Regal, flatly. "But we must find and secure the Wok of Infinite Light before the Dark Chefs can perform their ritual..."

"Yes, yes, we'll excavate and categorize the other rooms in good time," Raine assured him. "But for now I'd like to–"

"They're going to get beef juices all over it," Zelos remarked casually. Raine froze, her eyes wide. Their customary ruin-instigated shine was flickering uncertainly. "Probably a really good passata, too, and you know you'll _never_ get a stain like that out."

"To the inner chambers!" she shouted, leaping to her feet with the Phoenix Rod ready. The sparkle of wondrous discovery had been replaced with the glow of burning soufflés. She tried to charge deeper into the subterranean temple, but Zelos was ready, and grabbed her cloak's collar firmly as the professor dashed past him.

"Which ones?" he asked the still-sane Regal.

"We might as well let her determine that," Regal decided. "She is our best weapon against them, after all." Shrugging his acceptance, Zelos let go and followed the elder Sage out of the Hall, with Regal acting as rear guard. They made their way through elegant, statue-lined corridors, and more than once Regal thought he noticed a carefully carved shape that was very reminiscent of the Wonder Chef.

Most of the other chambers, however, were totally empty and often cold enough to fog their breath. Regal began to grow concerned about this until Raine began translating ancient runes off the walls for fun and enlightenment: the words 'first-grade beef' and 'prime root vegetables' indicated that these had once been storage areas. The embossed title 'chamber of salmon' either confirmed her theory or suggested that the creators had had an eccentric sense of humour.

There were clearly some devious people within the Dark Chef Alliance. Just as the three frenzied intruders had begun to return to calmness and security, they entered a room that was filled, wall to wall, with sharply-armed Dark Chefs.

Regal, Zelos, and Raine came to an abrupt halt. None of the Dark Chefs moved, having a healthy respect for their enemies after Dior's report and the legend of the One. Instead they waited, tensely, fingering knives that would have been called 'comically long' if they weren't also supremely sharp and in the hands of irritable people.

"What do you think?" Zelos whispered out of the corner of his mouth, trying to edge away without giving the appearance of running. "Eruption takes time and Ray can't get them all..."

"I'd like to finish this with as little bloodshed as possible," Regal murmured back.

"Me too!" said Zelos fervently.

"Really?" Raine enquired.

"Of course! ...Wait, do you mean _our_ blood, or theirs?"

Regal ignored that, realising that it was once again up to him to find a solution very, very quickly, with nothing to work with except more than a dozen enemies in a dark and cramped room... dark... _mise en place!_

(Literally, that's a term meaning that all the ingredients and equipment for the preparation of a dish are available and ready, but Regal hasn't been getting much sleep lately and when you're a Potential Wonder Chef, you've got to do what you can with what you're given. Practically the nature of all cooking, that is. Besides, they don't have the word 'eureka' on Tethe'alla.)

"Raine..." he said quietly, because the Dark Chefs were looking more confident after several seconds of not being beaten to death. "Target that loose rock at my feet. Both of you turn around when I move."

"Light," Raine hissed immediately, because after this length of time it was second nature to call on the necessary mana for the spell. Regal slipped his foot under the stone and lifted it swiftly as she shouted "_Photon!_" and all three of them followed Bryant's instruction.

When a brilliant golden light blew the quickly-rising stone to bits, only Regal and the others were prepared– every last one of the Dark Chefs couldn't help watching the rock's upward flight, and none were expecting the blinding flare, which is quite a shock after a long time in deep, shadowy catacombs.

Regal, who hadn't had time to fully explain the plan to Zelos and Raine, was the first moving, and he had permanently disarmed three of the Dark Chefs before the Chosen had even dared face them again. Thick, broad metal leg guards were an excellent weapon against fine edges, which blunted quite quickly on contact with enchanted diamonds.

Finishing his initial Swallow Dance, Regal used his second target as a springboard and caught another close cluster with the shockwave of Eagle Fall. Whirling kicks battered the feeling from arms and smashed weapons from their wielders' grips so thoroughly that by the time the afterimages had begun to fade, Zelos was wondering if it was worth getting involved in the fight. Still, he leapt to deflect sneak attacks from two half-blind and all-frantic Dark Chefs, cleaving their blades in half before they got within two feet of Regal's exposed back.

"_Crescent Moon!_" A blue-clad foe soared across the room, landing on two others in a heap, and then it was all over, save for the rhythmic _thwock_ing of Raine subduing the last one with her staff.

"That may have been overkill," said Zelos. "He's not dead, but... quite the kick, Regal."

"Sorry," said Bryant, apparently quite sincere. "Something about these Dark Chefs offends me."

"Absolutely," said Raine. "_Using_ a valuable source of information on the formation of a nearly-unknown culture just because they want world domination or some silly little thing like that."

"Hey, Regal– what _do_ these guys want, anyway?" asked Zelos.

"Genis spoke of a godly stew or something like that," Regal remembered. "Likely they intend to gain eternal life or some other significant power from it. Whether or not there is any danger of them succeeding is another matter, but if we don't break their operation–"

"They'll be pirating foods from all over the world, soon enough, yeah, I get it," said the Chosen. He frowned. "Regal, you congested or something? I bet Raine can fix that."

"What?"

"That wheezing."

All three of them held still, trying to locate the source of the sound, but it eventually revealed itself as a battered, laughing Dark Chef. He pulled himself up with an oven-side counter, and made a firm but dazed grab for the ancient metal pot sitting there. "Heh... heheheheh... did you think... we came alone?"

Zelos goggled. "Fifteen of you count as 'alone'? Or is that just relative to the number of voices in your head?"

"Our mastery far exceeds your own," the Dark Chef declared, undoing strange clamps on the sides of the pot lid. "And now that we have discovered a way to match _those_ two, rather than setting our fighting skills against warriors... you are doomed..." With that, Raine smacked him again with her staff and he collapsed, taking the lid with him.

A roiling, squelching sound emanated from within, and moments later a pale, slimy shape began to crawl over the edge. The heroes watched in horrified fascination as the chunky ooze emerged, a heap of perhaps three cubic feet of malicious potato salad.

"_This is completely lunatic!_" Zelos shouted, again shocked that a well-ordered universe would allow this sort of thing to happen.

The creamy salad-beast hurled itself at his head.

"Look out!" Regal called, unnecessarily, as Zelos brought up the Last Fencer protectively. The creature folded around his weapon like a wet towel over a clothesline, and then immediately began creeping up the edge. Zelos hurled it to the floor the way someone else might have flung aside a poisonous snake, but it leapt up again, wrapping around the Chosen's face in mid-scream.

Regal had already charged to his side, but it was impossible to peel the sludgy mass from Zelos' skin, and getting a grip on the creature's main body was out of the question. Regal looked to the dropped Last Fencer, but he was no swordsman, and doubted that even Lloyd could have safely carved a salad off anyone's body. Especially a malevolent one.

"Raine! Do you have any spell that can heal this sort of... ailment?" asked Regal.

"Ailment? It's a salad," Raine replied.

"He's going to asphyxiate if we don't find a way to get it off!"

"Drowned in a creamy green onion dressing... even Zelos doesn't deserve that."

Regal's gaze scoured the chamber, desperate to find any solution to the problem. Zelos was now on his knees, scrabbling with both hands at the slippery attacker, and losing energy with his air cut off. What was the limit? Thirty seconds without air, for a normal person. Hopefully longer for one with an Exsphere...

...Poisoners always made sure they kept an antidote, didn't they? It would be foolishly dangerous to work around a lethal substance without some sort of protection, and Regal could think of no better word for the pale attacker than 'lethal substance'. He began flinging open the few crates piled up in the room, and was immediately joined by Raine, who had been thinking along the same lines... almost.

"Condiments of all sorts," Regal reported, levering a box open. "And dishtowels or cheesecloths or something of that sort... why isn't there an antidote?!"

"Good grief," Raine groaned. "They have an entire basket of fried chicken legs in this one–"

"_Give me those!_" Regal bellowed, and Raine dodged out of the way just in time to avoid the duke's frantic leap. He lifted the basket and swung it over to Zelos, who was now lying on the gritty stone, barely moving.

The salad quivered for a moment, sensing the presence of its natural picnic-traditional companion... and then surrendered to as much instinct as unnatural potato-creatures have got, leaping off Zelos to merge with the chicken legs.

Wilder gasped in relief several times, still slightly glistening from the assault. "I... hate... potato... salad..." he wheezed.

"My apologies for not thinking more swiftly," said Regal, helping him up. "Of course it would be attracted to its natural picnic-companion."

"Whatever. Let's find the Wok and get out of here."

"...Regal?" called Raine, worriedly. "The subject appears to be eating the fried chicken."

Professor Sage prodded the busied salad with her Phoenix Staff, and was surprised by how pleased it made her to see any parts that tried to stick burn way from its miniature wings. A faint hiss of steam puffed into the dank air, and the salad stopped in its feasting. There was a brief _slorch_, and it flung itself directly upward, this time toward Raine.

She swept the phoenix-feathered staff in its way, and the creature rebounded in a puff of brief flames, but it could not be broken or discouraged, and continued its assault from every angle it could manage. Regal wished for a moment that he had brought his Flare Greaves, since the salad appeared to be incapable of resisting heat, but his practical nature corralled the duke's thoughts quickly toward finding a solution.

_Concussive attacks ineffective, cutting ineffective, gripping is impossible so strangling is right out, and the power of magic would likely be greatly reduced by the mundane nature of potatoes_– (don't ask how he knows this sort of thing, it's his _job_) –_and this is clearly a Recipe of Power, as well..._

But he had the trump card where cooking was concerned, didn't he? "Raine!" Regal shouted, since she was rather busy fending it, and he couldn't help her if the potato salad took notice of his presence and charged. "How would you improve a potato salad?" _Please, if you can invent the spicy shortcake, surely you can do this..._

"Well," Raine answered thoughtfully, always ready to lend her culinary opinion, "it's mostly rather bland, isn't it? Something like soy sauce would be a brand new flavour, especially the salty aspect." Regal didn't wait for her to finish, he was already scouring the cabinets for a little black bottle.

He pushed the still-unsteady Zelos gently but firmly aside and dove between the harried professor and her attacker. Uncorking the bottle with his teeth, Regal hurled most of the contents of his bottle in the direction of the sludgy creature, and it couldn't help but catch the full force of the splash.

Immediately the beast fell back, and shuddered briefly as the sauce soaked in before exploding backwards, as though Regal's soy attack had hit at supersonic speed with the force of Presea's old war-hammer. Raine was safe and Regals' guess had been right, but Zelos hadn't been quite as lucky.

"You had better not have done that on purpose," he said, discovering that remnants of potato salad didn't brush off his favourite pink vest nearly as well as he hoped. "I _hate_ potato salad..."

Raine knelt and picked an unusual object out of the creamy wreckage– a moment's cleaning showed it to be round and blue, a flawless crystal that pulsed with the energy of life. "They used an Exsphere," she said flatly. "They've found a way to use Exspheres on their dishes..."

"What? Okay, now I'm _really_ up for stomping these guys," said Zelos. "Lucky for them we found them before Lloyd did. He gets really tetchy about that sort of thing."

"No," Raine said, noticing the expression that had settled onto Regal's face. "I don't think this is the lucky option." She pocketed the Exsphere and tried to look like a soldier ready to march back into the fray (this is easier for teachers than they'd like). Regal nodded once, still silent, and marched deeper into the kitchen catacombs.

Everything had almost fit together in Regal's mind. The Dark Chefs had found the Wok, maybe long before Lloyd's quest to reunite the worlds had ever begun. They needed the right recipe to use its full power, and maybe now they had it. By pirating the Lezareno ships, they had gathered the necessary ingredients, and probably a supply of Exspheres from the power converter systems. But what in Celsius' name _for_?

"I don't like this," said Zelos, jogging a bit to keep up with the implacable Regal. "We're just walking around free inside their base. Not even the thicker Desians let us get away with that for long."

"I like it just fine," Raine countered. "Of all the possible parts of a battle, my favourite is when it's over, and before it's started is a close second."

And then a perfectly ordinary stone corridor opened up into something cavern-sized, a vast space lit by dozens of braziers in concentric circles around a deep depression in the middle. ...Not quite a depression. At the edges it rose above the level of the floor, with a low set of stairs leading to the brim, and those same edges were deeply etched with runes Regal didn't even want to begin to know.

This was the Wok of Infinite Light, and a Dark Chef stood at its edge, hurling reddish powder from a sack into the roiling mixture within. Around him were more, dozens, perhaps hundreds, filling the room like the ancient clay armies buried with the kings of old Altamira. For a moment, the sheer power that was growing within the room overwhelming Regal, but he was shaken back to reality by a pair of yelps at his back.

Raine and Zelos were in the clutches of several Dark Chefs, who had been waiting to ambush any intruders into the room. Zelos scoffed at the scene; he was certainly outnumbered, but Raine was the one with a giant knife held to her neck. "Oh, come on. You're taking the _lady_ hostage? That's _so_ stereotypical."

"She's smart enough to know she'll die if any of you struggles," said Dior, who happened to be the one holding the blade. "Whereas I already know you're a suicidal hero." She turned to Regal, and he found her face briefly –but deeply– familiar. "I'm sure you know that your personal morals will get shot to hell if you let them die, Bryant, so let's skip any haggling, shall we?"

Regal briefly eyed the objects Dior was dangling from her free hand. "...All right," he conceded with a pained sigh that just barely managed to sound sincere. The duke bowed his head, something that was very familiar after all those years, and raised both arms at the same level, close enough together to be co-operative.

Another Chef placed the handcuffs around Regal's wrists and locked them shut.

Regal raised his face and grinned like a dragon.

"Oh goddess," Zelos moaned, and closed his eyes in sympathetic pain for the Dark Chefs.


	6. Recipe for Disaster

**A Wok of Infinite Light**

_Recipe for Disaster_

_After all this time and all our adventures,_ Raine thought to herself, almost disappointed by the Dark Chefs' choice to shackle Regal's hands, _they still haven't heard the most legendary part of the story of Regal Bryant? What poor, close-minded outcasts they must be..._

Zelos, of course, doesn't have that sort of mind. _Give 'em more Traubel than they can __imagine, bud._ Yes, he really does think like that. You thought it was an act?

Knowing that the solid click of his new handcuffs locking would relax the surrounding Dark Chefs, Regal struck before they could start thinking cautiously again, and launched the one who had bound him into Zelos' captor (and, unavoidably, Zelos as well) with Crescent Moon. The Chosen was up first, having had a convenient enemy to cushion his swift impact against the wall, and immediately moved to rescue Raine.

Regal had enough faith in Zelos' foolish bravery to leave that fight, and instead turned to face the remaining army of Dark Chefs. This had to be every single one of their Alliance gathered before the Wok, and by the looks of its contents, he barely had enough time to prevent the recipe-ritual's completion. He leapt into the crowd and dropped like a meteor –"_Eagle Fall!_"– to scatter them. _At this rate_, Regal thought grimly, _I should be able to leapfrog my way to the Wok in twenty minutes._

Zelos wrested the Last Fencer away from another Dark Chef, one who looked young enough to be easily swayed and smart enough to wish he was at the back of the crowd, and summarily sliced the blade off Dior's giant weapon. Raine wasn't threatened by a large stick, and in any case hers was better. The Chef who had taken it practically threw the Phoenix Rod her way before running out of the room, possibly to avoid the rush.

"We should help Regal," Raine said, smacking Dior away with a backhanded sweep.

"I think this is one of those times when you can't help someone else until you help yourself," Zelos suggested, because even if these were a bunch of frail Chefs and he had an Exsphere, facing enemies who would outnumber the girls he had dated in his entire life was a worrying prospect.

"I think we can do both," the professor decided. "Clear me a path."

"Back me up," Zelos responded, and called on his Exsphere to harmonize with the others nearby– what Lloyd had called a 'unison attack'. "_All right_! _Super Lightning Blade!_" He raised the Last Fencer and, in defiance of all logic, a bolt of lightning struck its edge.

"_Photon!_" Raine shouted, focusing her spell on Zelos' weapon.

"_Plasma Blade!_" they called as one. The blade turned incandescent and Zelos swept it down and around, turning the arc into a long forward thrust. His feet slid along the ground as though pulled ahead by the sword; a solar comet and its red-headed rider cut through the Dark Chef ranks, hurling them in all directions. Raine followed before they could close up behind him like the water around a dropped rock.

"That is _such_ a rush..." Zelos murmured as Raine sprinted lightly past him. With a few solid blows from the Phoenix Rod, the last handful of Dark Chefs were convinced to step aside, and she could lean over the edge of the great Wok.

"Taste my wrath!" Raine bellowed (she had hardly any opportunities to 'let go' in the new, peaceful world, and desperately needed an outlet– turning out to be the One was an incredible stroke of luck), and plunged the head of her staff into the thick liquid. To be honest, it smelled to be a dish well beyond divine, and she didn't even care for beef stew. This transcended beef; it was what food became if it had been good in its former lives.

It was already hot, and there was already a few hundred gallons of the stuff simmering– burning was out of the question, as she had done with most of the creations in the entrance hall. But perhaps there was more to it than that? Very few things can't be turned into their exact opposites with a bit of effort. Raine gripped the rod firmly and let it suck the heat in like a cat on a winter night.

Regal paused in his rampage –that is, dealt a twirling kick while lying on his back before flipping up and into Wolverine to clear the Chefs for a few feet in all directions– and looked to the Dark Chef who stood at the top of the stairs. He wore a black cape, rather than the standard red one, and seven gold stars sparkled on each of his arms, where most had three or four.

The Wonder Chef had once said that there were seven distinct levels of expertise between learning a recipe and truly mastering it. This was a seven-star chef, the only one he had seen. He had to be the leader of the Alliance, the Darkest Chef. And he was laughing.

"Sage, you fool, you think that can stop us now?"

Zelos had been warding off anyone who was thinking of attacking Raine from behind, but now he dared to glance over his shoulder. The magnificent stew had turned solid and mostly been covered in a layer of frost, like a thick white rug. Sweat was beading on the professor's forehead, and her staff was glowing with a reddish aura.

"It seems... to be giving _you_... some trouble... It's hard... to stir... a block of ice."

"I am a True Chef," the seven-starred man declared. "And no such force as a mere chill is going to stop me!"  
"Oh, _man_," Zelos groaned. "Why does every evil villain talk like that? Only reason I _liked_ Mithos was that he knew how to speak like a normal person."

The Dark Chefs had parted to make a thoroughfare from a heavily-stocked table to the seven-star chef. A Sous-chef sprinted through the space and reverently passed a pouch to the seven-star chef.

"Behold the power of the fiery blood-spice, red satay!" He threw a double handful of powder into the air that settled like crimson snow, and the stew melted and boiled. Raine yelped and jerked the Phoenix Rod back, unable to control the rush of heat. She waved it in the direction of the massed Chefs (Zelos yelped at the sight, throwing himself to the floor just in time) and the Rod projected a wide heat-stream through their ranks.

"Whoa," said Zelos. Nothing else could quite have described it. "I could get used to fighting enemies without Exspheres." The Chefs caught in Raine's accidental assault looked like they had spent the last month on a beach in Altamira, and the air smelled thickly of smoke and singed leather.

More than half the stricken forces collapsed immediately from heat stroke, and the remnant seemed much more interested in getting away than pressing the attack. Even those who hadn't been touched were wary of approaching.

"All right, Chosen," said Raine, her spirits buoyed by the display of the One's powers. "Let's... Chosen? ...Zelos? Zelos, where have you got to?" Tethe'alla's Chosen was hard to lose, and so there was no doubt that he had vanished. "All right..." She took a deep breath and hefted the Phoenix Rod. "Who wants some?"

* * *

Dior had made it up the stairwell to the Temple of the Wok's upper balcony, making her way to the secret exit. If she hadn't been in such a hurry, it would have made an ideal sniper blind to bring down Bryant or that elf-witch Sage... in fact, that was an even better plan. This part of the chamber was hard enough to see in the shadows; they swarmed around the ceiling like stormclouds that dared not go near the torchlight below.

Six-star Dark Chef Dior was proud to say she always thought of her own interests first. It was a lot clearer than any _hero_ imagined, especially her fool of a brother. While it would be safer to escape now, it would be much more profitable to save the day.

With a sarcastically elegant prance, she moved to the back wall and let her fingers run along the ancient ceremonial regalia. An apron woven from unicorn tail hairs... dragonscale oven mitts... ah! A polycarbonate roasting skewer!

Taking a Venom'elette from the leather roll in her apron pocket, Dior poisoned the entire length of the skewer (she believed in being prepared, especially in ways no one else would guess) and leaned over the worn stone railing. Bryant appeared to be showing defiance to Vahgner's father, leader of the Alliance. That was convenient. His broad and muscled back made an excellent target...

"You're the human equivalent of a thorn, you know," Zelos snarled, and tackled her from out of the shadows. Still the skewer flew, and Regal's only hint of impending doom would have been the momentary grin on the seven-star chef's shadowed face... except that Raine saw it too, and reflexively blew the culinary weapon to ashes.

"Wilder! I should have known you'd watch for anything female and breathing in the area." Zelos was pressing her uncomfortably against the edge of a dusty wooden bench, but with a little leg power, Dior flipped the entire seat backwards and tossed the Chosen overhead.

"You're giving yourself a lot of credit there, aren'tcha?" Zelos asked, getting to his feet. Dior picked a mythril-cobalt frying pan off its hook and attempted to knock Zelos' head off his shoulders. He bent backwards and then rose up with a vengeance, in defiance of most laws of physics. The proverbial battle was joined. ...Proverbially.

* * *

"No snipers," said Regal, who thought Dior's attack was a planned ambush. The Darkest Chef looked on dispassionately. "No tricks. And no foolish followers. If you are so much greater than myself, then face me yourself. One True Chef against another."

The leader laughed again, and anyone who wasn't already fearful of Raine or Regal's power copied his outburst. They stopped at his direction, too, forming a shaky but stubborn wall of kitchen soldiers. "You still have no idea! If memory serves me correctly, I have often heard it said that actions speak louder than words... so allow me to demonstrate." Like a magician producing a dove from empty hands, the head chef flourished the final ingredient: Mana Leaf Herb.

"No!" Regal yelped. "You don't know what could happen! Intense mana infusions in this–"

"Not a problem, Regal," said Raine, raising her staff– but the leaf flashed briefly white and hurled the professor to the floor. Elven plants fight back.

He let it go and the herbs fell heavily into the stew, which hissed and then turned as red as the core of the earth. In its fiery light, the darkness veiling a giant statue on the Wok's far side was burned away, revealing a seventy-foot tall likeness of...

"The Wonder Chef?!" Zelos blurted, and received a glancing blow to the cheek for his inattention.

"The disciple of a lost god!" roared the Darkest Chef. "He who will rise again in his true form and serve us, creating only the finest dishes in all the world. We shall live as kings, and may the rest of the world wither beyond these walls!"

One useful thing about training to become a duke is that it's very hard to be completely stunned. Regal the convict, Regal the hero, and Regal the Potential were all reeling, trying to understand how this ancient catacomb could hold a statue of the Wonder Chef, but Duke Bryant was more interested in smacking evildoers around.

"And you intend to summon him with this stew?" Bryant guessed.

"Summon? This is the Ultimate Recipe! I intend to give him _life!_" The Darkest Chef spun, raised his arms to the red-black ceiling, and cried in an ancient language: "_Yomigaeru Aiyan Sheffu!_"

The statue was made entirely from earthy clay, tending in places to grey, green, and brown, but at that call any thoughts of such details vanished completely. Stone exploded from two points on its face, and from then on it was impossible to notice anything but the statue's blazing red eyes.

It knelt before the Wok and touched one spear-thick finger into the magma-like stew. "**What is this?**" it roared, though such a giant might not have been capable of anything else.

"The Ultimate Recipe, great one! Finest of all stews!" the Darkest Chef declared, bowing.

"**I will not tolerate deceit! This dish bears no aura appropriate to the Ultimate Recipe!**" The statue waved a giant hand and turned the contents of the Wok into something Regal had only ever seen before when Zelos cast Eruption on top of one of Genis' Ground Dashers. It obliterated the stew, but not a mark was left on the Wok. "**Go from here!**"

The Darkest Chef didn't seem ready to accept that his ritual hadn't worked. "And what shall we return with?"

"**Never return to this sacred ground, impostor. And if our paths cross, you would do well to avoid my notice.**"

"You... you can't..." The statue dug its fingers into the cavernous ceiling, tore out a block the size of a small dragon, and hurled it at the Darkest Chef. He seemed as petrified as his attacker, and so it was lucky that Regal was still in no-nonsense-duke mode. He charged and leapt, bolstering his own power with Sylph's Opal, which Sheena had left with him at the journey's end.

"_Super Swallow Dance!_" He couldn't hope to break the stone, but Regal's flurry of magically powered kicks killed its momentum and managed to knock the thing off course. It crashed among Dark Chef acolytes, who had the sense to move.

"You again!"

"I saved you," Regal pointed out.

"You are still the enemy of our Alliance, and I–" With a dull thump, Vahgner knocked his father unconscious with the long, sturdy handle of his official Dark Chef knife.

"Sorry, dad. Think of it as payback for all those times you mocked my teriyaki sauce," said the six-star Chef to his prone parent.

"This is not the time for petty revenge," said Regal sternly. The giant statue was now trying to lever a fiery brazier out of the floor. Many of the Dark Chefs had already fled the chamber.

"No, he was right," said Vahgner. "I was getting the consistency all wrong, and needed to be told. He's getting this wrong, so I'll help him out– and you, by association. How do we stop that golem?"

Regal was taken aback, but he recovered quickly. "...You knocked him unconscious."

"He didn't need to be _that_ sarcastic about the teriyaki," said Vahgner, and grinned.

"Every time I meet a father and child there's something ridiculously twisted about it," said Raine, jogging up beside Regal. "Kratos and Lloyd, Colette and Remiel, Kate and the Pope... now these two."

Vahgner was getting worried now. He had expected Regal to know exactly what to do, but instead Bryant was just staring vaguely at the stone Wonder Chef, as if hypnotised. Hypnotised was not a good reaction from your last chance at survival.

"Come on, Potential! Surely the Wonder Chef must have told you _something_ useful!"

Regal snapped back to reality. He _had_ been told something rather cryptic, and if he knew legends, this was just the time for it to reveal itself and save them all. What was it? "_In all honesty, Lord Bryant, think back far enough and you'll find all you could ever need to know._" ...Hmm. That was incredibly accurate, for Regal's memory. Lucky them, if only he could begin to imagine what it meant.

"Let's get the Dark Chefs out of here."

* * *

"What's your problem, anyway?!" Zelos snarled, parrying another of Dior's maddened swings.

"You are, Wilder!" she snapped back. "Anywhere you'd like to be buried in particular?"

"The sea would be nice," he remarked, feinting left and then sweeping in on his upper right. She blocked the Last Fencer (putting a severe nick in the frying pan when she did so) and jabbed straight ahead, driving it into his face. Zelos hopped backwards and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

"I won't ask about coffins; I intend to bury you in a crispy tempura coating. And I hope you enjoyed that, because more are on their way," Dior promised.

"It's gonna leave a mark, I know that much." A drop of blood was trickling past his eye.

She pressed the attack, and Zelos was wary enough of receiving any more of the metallic beatings that he didn't dare go fight too offensively. "I can't stand people like you to begin with, but even worse is that no one else seems to notice your true nature as an utter–"

"Language, you psychopath," said Zelos, mildly and infuriatingly reprimanding her.

"_Arrgh!_ Shut up! It's bad enough that a heartless toyer like you still practically has to fight off girls –ones who could do with more self-respect, I might add– but to _think_ that you still get called a saviour, as if everything you do wrong doesn't count because your friends call themselves heroes!"

"...I get it," said Zelos. He stepped out of bashing range, staring at the floor.

Dior didn't lower her weapon. "You do?" she asked. She hadn't expected to get through.

"Yeah." He looked back up at her, any hint of false uncertainty gone. "Basically, you're a basket case." Zelos charged, slipping into his admittedly elegant battle-dance that linked attacks and defences seamlessly. Dior resisted, but was forced back step by step. "Did you ever think of applying that sort of logic to your own life? I mean, you joined the _Dark – Chef – Alliance_. That's not exactly healthy behaviour, even if you do have some kind of anti-hero grudge."

Dior hit the wall, and Zelos' sword swept up under her chin. Recognizing the motion as universal sign language for 'surrender', the Dark Chef dropped her weapon. "You think I'm scared?" she asked.

"Well, you've got a really sharp edge near your throat. I'd be at least a little concerned, if I were you," Zelos replied.

"I still have the advantage," Dior insisted. She smiled in a way that would have made one of Mithos' lifeless beings go weak at the knees. "I can grab a weapon at any time, Chosen, but there's no such thing as a charm against attractive women."

Zelos held up his hand, palm away from her face. Silver and gemstone sparkled. "Yeah. There is. It's called an engagement ring." Dior's eyes widened for a moment as the displaying hand folded into a fist, and then the world went dark.

* * *

Vahgner watched as the Wonder Chef golem tore into the wall with fist and sceptre, having successfully torn up the iron brazier and compressed it into a shredding mace. He was hurrying the last of his subordinates through the last intact exit, while Regal braced the wall with his body and Raine harried the statue with Photon spells.

"That's it!" Vahgner called upwards, to the point where Regal had wedged himself between two pillars, his legs at a hundred-eighty degrees from each other. "No one's left, and I had a few Sous-chefs take my father!"

"Thank goddess," Regal groaned, dropping out of his perch. He was going to be aching for days after this was over, and he hadn't even taken the majority of the cutlery beatings in the group.

"Light! _Photon!_" Raine had stayed to blasting the golem with shrapnel by setting off Photons in the wall; when she targeted the statue itself, a powerful mana feedback made her feel like she had been struck with the Hammer of Dizzy Nauseous Migraines.

"Please tell me you know how we're going to survive this," said Vahgner to Regal. The golem's rampaging set off another small avalanche as he spoke, collapsing the last passageway, and its rage seemed to dissipate.

"**None shall rule me again. Not those without the right.**"

"It speaks like a Summon Spirit," Raine observed.

"**Spirit? Do I look like a _spirit_ to you, halfbreed?!**" the golem demanded, and shattered a section of floor with a diamond-hard fist. Only a frantic leap had prevented Raine from being mixed with the broken stone.

"No, you're much more insane," Vahgner observed quietly.

"**The blue chefs flee, but they leave their stock**," it remarked, noticing the still-laden tables– grand feast, some assembly required. "**I will rebuild this kingdom. I will find worthy followers. The Imperial Cordon Bleu will reign again!**"

"I will not allow it."

Compared to the stone giant's words, which echoed across the great cavern and in the Wok's enchanted hollow, Regal might as well have whispered, but he got better marks for nearly freezing the air with his statement. The giant froze in mid-step and turned to watch him more closely. Vahgner's blood turned to icy gazpacho at being pierced by its hellfire-eyes, but kept his feet.

"**You will risk your life to defy me?**" It turned to face the trio, drawing itself up to its fullest height and twirling the twisted sceptre threateningly. It looked like a demon's whisk.

"I will do whatever is necessary. Chefs serve others, not themselves," Regal stated bluntly.

"Too right," said a disturbingly familiar voice. It occurred to Regal, as a of wood and metal soared out of the darkness, that the Dark Chefs had mostly used knives, aside from that one war-spoon he had encountered on the transport ship. Perhaps they didn't dare mimic their enemy.

The five-foot utensil landed in the stones in front of him, its tines digging easily into granite. Regal reached out and took hold of the Wonder Chef's fork. He knew a gift –even if it was only a loan– when he saw it.

For only a moment Regal felt the comforting smoothness under his fingers before everything else faded away. Memory overflowed from the wood, filling his world.

_Find what you need to know, Regal Bryant, God of the Kitchen._


	7. The Kitchen God's Masterpiece

**A Wok of Infinite Light**

_The Kitchen God's Masterpiece_

"Did you hear that?" asked Vahgner, looking around the vast chamber for the source of the Wonder Chef's voice. He was out there, somewhere, and no Dark Chef could hear those tones without trembling a little.

"I did. He called Regal the God of the Kitchen once before, when he first defeated a Dark Chef... but I hadn't understood until now," said Raine.

Regal had frozen as soon as he touched the fork, and a bright spectral aura had wrapped around him like the smoothest white chocolate. The golem chef was also frozen, but seemed almost to be in pain in the glare. It had bent over, and was covering its face with its arms the way Lloyd often did when Raine made curry (or anything else, to be honest).

"Hadn't understood what?" asked Vahgner, who was edging towards frantic.

"In Mizuho and its ancestral cultures, there are gods for every part of the house, watching over those who live there," said Raine, who couldn't have been more relaxed– teaching always had that effect on her. "And the Kitchen God is the most important, the head of the house. At the start of a new year, he makes a report on the residents' activities and–"

"The point, the actual point!" Vahgner prompted her.

"Well... I think Regal is taking on some kind of... guardian mantle. But what house could be under his protection...?" Raine wondered.

* * *

_"Regal? Master Regal, are you down here?"_

_George quietly descended the stairs, looking into the corners as he came. The old kitchen in the basement of House Bryant was always kept clean, but behind barrels, crates, ovens, and cupboards, there were plenty of hiding places. Today the castle was especially empty, with so many servants still at home until the confusion had settled down. George didn't have any other home to go to, and so he found Regal's absence all the more obvious._

_"Master Regal?" The boy –young man, but not by many years– was nowhere to be seen, but there was a faint wheezing, somewhere in the warm cellar. George followed it to a corner nook, behind one of the roasting ovens, where Regal was sitting with his legs close to his body, head on his knees._

_The young Duke Bryant looked up with red-tainted eyes, and struggled to breathe steadily. "...You should be home, George. N-nothing's happening today."_

_"Master Regal..." George whispered, crouching beside the last remaining member of the family he had pledged to serve. "I'm so sorry... Your parents were grand people..."_

_"You... don't have to be," said Regal, putting his head down again. "You can go home now."_

_"This is my home, Master Regal."_

_He realised this was the wrong thing to say too late to change it, as a part of the youngest Bryant's misery became anger. "It's mine!" he snapped. "You're not family, George, and you don't have a place here any more!"_

_George took a step back, not wanting to give any more offence than he already had. "I have nowhere else to go, Master Regal, but I shall restrict myself to the upper chambers, if you prefer." He bowed slightly, maintaining as much of his professional air as possible. Regal would have to learn to toughen himself, but there was no need to press the matter today, and not in front of her. "I merely thought you might wish to see Miss Combatir...?"_

_Regal tilted his head around the corner of the giant oven, and whatever minor order there might have been to his emotions before was blown away by the presence of Alicia, standing meekly by the staging table. "Alicia!"_

_"Regal," she said, as he stood and tried to clear any signs of distress from his face. "When I heard the news, I knew I had to come..." He did not so much hug Alicia as let her hold him, wishing he could raise his arms and return the gesture. They swayed slightly at his sides, feeling almost numb._

_When she let him go, Regal saw that she didn't look to be in much better condition than he was. "Your parents were so kind to me," she said, smiling behind the sparkle of tears. "I owe them everything... not least for you."_

_"I've seen to it that your father will retain his post as Royal Woodsman," Regal murmured, staring at the floor._

_She almost said that he didn't have to do that, or that Regal had more important priorities right now, but she knew that neither was true. It was Regal's nature to watch out for others, and if he hadn't made certain of his mother's appointment of Sieg Combatir as the official sacred wood harvest, it would have been a sign –to others, and to himself– that his orphaning had changed him for the worse._

_"Thank you," she decided._

_"I'll..." George began, but he stopped when Regal turned to look at the attendant. "Master Regal, I shall leave you in peace." He started towards the stairs, but after the new duke and Alicia shared a brief glance..._

_"George!" Regal called. He stopped, obligingly. you show me how to make your cream stew?" The old man looked surprised for only a moment, but then smiled and joined them again._

_"Can I help?" asked Alicia. "It sounds like something Presea and dad would like."_

_"The more the better, as I'm sure Regal will tell you. When he was younger, his favourite story was about cooking. Weary soldiers came upon a village struck by famine, and so began to boil water..."_

* * *

The white aura around Regal was roiling now, and swirled around his body like a stardust hurricane. Vahgner reached out to touch it, but Raine slapped his hand down quickly. Her elven blood sensed the mana charging, and she didn't dare interfere until the world felt less volatile.

"Come on, Regal, find what you need..." she whispered.

_"The hell're you doin', ye dandy?"_

_"Knock it off, Gerr. He's cookin' for the old man."_

_Regal was bent over the weak flames, wishing fervently for oil. It was hard enough for him –and a mystery to everyone else in the Meltokio jail– to build even the smallest fire, and then keeping the food from burning was a task and a half. But Levin had been in the coliseum today, and with only the sort of gruel that was common to those jailed, the eldest prisoner wouldn't make it through the cold night._

_"You've... got a lot of talents... Chef Regal," said Levin._

_"Hush, Levin," said Regal. "I'll be ready in a moment."_

_"It will," Levin corrected him. "You, Regal, seems to me you're ready all the time, but you'll never get a chance to do anything in your state."_

_"What do you mean?" asked Regal._

_"You've been shackled for all of two months now? Hah, I bet it seems like a lifetime to you." Levin tilted his head back, resting it on the rough-hewn bricks of the wall he sat against. "But if you get to be my age, you'll know what a lifetime really is. And without training, you'll never be my age."_

_"I still don't understand," said Regal. He shook his head and focused on the food._

_"I hear they tossed you out in the coliseum last week. Hear you nearly got crushed by an ogre, but you ended up strangling it with your cuffs. That's clever, right enough, but it's luck, too. And luck runs out some time or another. Only has to happen once, and then you'll never get another chance, as they'll have already buried you in a blank grave behind the coliseum, where no one sees."_

_"How have you survived, then?"_

_"Me? Ha, I'm too stubborn to die. More than that, these aren't any more than decorations when they put me out there," said Levin, raising his cuffed hands. "It's called the Traubel style. You'll learn to think on your feet and fight on your back, and always be the last man standing."_

_Regal stared at the flames for a moment. Someone who knew more about his life than any of the nearby prisoners might have thought he was deciding if he deserved to live any longer than fate decreed. "...You can teach me?" he asked at last._

_"Of course. The question is whether or not you can learn." Then he cackled, that manic laugh mastered by all elderly people who know more than those around them._

_"In the morning, then," said Regal, pouring the stew into a bowl and placing it in Levin's hands. "And keep in mind that I will not accept the teacher's death as an excuse for missing my first lesson."_

_"Oh. One of those sorts of bargainers," said Levin, grinning._

* * *

When the God of the Kitchen opened his eyes, he couldn't help noticing how his clothes had changed. Uniform and apron in pristine white, a ridiculous colour to wear in this dank cave, had replaced his more durable adventuring garb.

"That happens a lot, does it?" asked Vahgner. "Chef's clothing coalescing out of blessed auras?"

"It's not done yet," Raine observed, and Regal didn't have to look at anything but their faces to know that the faint new weight on his head was a tall, cylindrical hat: the toque, the cook's crown. "What do we do, Regal?"

Bryant's mind was abuzz, too full of thoughts that didn't seem to be his own. _Command all. Serve all. Be the head and the legs. Give joy where you can, and nurture no matter what. Waste nothing, not even potential, not even risks. Know your limitations and mock them regularly. Know that this is not your power, but an older art working through you. Know that the feast is greater than the sum of its parts._

The statue of the Wonder Chef had also been released from its enchantment, and was a much simpler thinker. One boulder of a fist hurtled down to crush Regal. He raised the fork, and seemed completely unsurprised when it stopped the attack like a roof stops rain, without even jarring Regal's tenuous grip.

"What a fascinating disturbance of physical laws," Raine remarked, and then cleared her through to indicate that whatever she had just said hadn't happened. "What now, Regal?"

Zelos had vanished, leaving only himself, Vahgner, and Raine. Chefs of light, dark, and absolute catastrophe. Yes, he knew what to do. "Vahgner, get to that table of ingredients. Take your favourites, and place them in the Wok. You must be clear– do not follow any recipe you know."

"Yes sir!" said Vahgner, saluting, immensely relieved that someone was ordering him around again. His brief taste of rebellious leadership had convinced him that it was for other people.

"Raine, do the same, but be random. Use no logic whatsoever in your choices."

"I hope you know what you're doing..." she said, and jogged off toward the heaped ingredient table. The Dark Chef started to go, but hesitated, still worried by the vagueness.

"I don't want to go in the wrong direction, is the thing," said Vahgner. "What are we making?"

Regal smiled, still holding the chef-golem away with his fork. "Soup."

While the two of them went to prepare the Wok of Infinite Light, Regal knew his task was to keep the resurrected statue at bay. And so he did, leaping out from the fist's path a half-second before the fork's binding also stopped working, and so the briefly-frozen motion continued down, sending shards of broken tiles in all directions.

Regal lashed out with the fork, but while it cut surprisingly well into the stone hand, it was impossible to use properly while shackled. Instead, when the hand rose up again, Regal dashed in, planted the fork, and used it as a pivoting axis to deal a powerful sideways Crescent Moon to its ankle. The statue staggered sideways, and Regal took a defensive stance, ready to spar as long as they needed.

"Tomatoes, yes, and garlic's never wrong... ooh, I didn't know we had reggiano parmesan – do you think this beef looks leaner than the chicken? And what's that?" asked Vahgner, loading his arms.

"It's bok choy," said Raine. "I just thought some green might be complementary."

"Bok choy and chicken!" Vahgner said happily. "Red peppers, too– good one, wouldn't have thought of... okay, now you're joking, right?"

"There's nothing wrong with fibrous vegetables," Raine said defensively.

"No, there isn't. But that's a pumpkin."

"Your father's the one who asked for it to be here. Besides, Regal insisted on random–"

"All right, all right, just grab those carrots and radishes on your way. We have chopping to do."

While Vahgner oversaw several stocking trips to the Wok and back, Regal and the golem chef rampaged around the chamber, often making Regal quite happy that Raine was distracted by her mission. The golem appeared to have some kind of grudge against the other statues, and his iron whisk-mace demolished quite a few of them.

In his defence, Regal was too busy to protect any of the figures. He rolled under the falling wreckage of one and continued his dive between the giant's legs, leaping to his feet and slashing backwards with the fork. The chef statue turned surprisingly quickly and Bryant was sent running again, briefly sprinting up one wall –with the fork as a sort of super-sized piton– and then leaping off into empty air.

It didn't remain empty for long, with the statue looming behind him, but Sylph's Opal proved its worth yet again, giving Regal the power to drive the chef back with the Super Swallow Dance. He couldn't dodge the chef's furious retaliatory swat, but managed to lock his legs between its fingers, rather than be hurled against the far wall.

"We're ready!" came Vahgner's welcome shout, and with senses stronger than ever before, Regal smelled a culinary miasma wafting from the Wok. _By Origin,_ he thought, _is that pumpkin?_

Bryant let go of the statue's fingers as its hand neared the hard tiles, breaking his fall with expert precision and rolling upright as though rising from a feather bed. ...Possibly a very reddish-dusty featherbed, but still his uniform remained perfect white, and the hat couldn't be shaken off. Regal ran flat-out, sprinting across the wide chamber to circle around the Wok's far side.

"Ready? This isn't ready!" said Raine. "One thing I've picked up for certain is that soup requires water."

"That I can handle," said Vahgner, and he pressed a part of the altar down. Three vents opened in the ceiling, and freshly-tapped spring water rushed down until the Wok was mostly full. They watched it flow, her startled (edging towards fascinated) and him smug. "The people who built this place might have been crazy, but they knew how to make a kitchen."

"Regal!" shouted a voice when the duke was only a third of the way around from the altar. He looked up to faintly see Zelos, apparently standing in nothing but shadows.

"What are you doing up there?" he called.

"It's a balcony," said Zelos quickly. "Hands up!" Regal reluctantly dropped the fork and raised his arms, glancing back just once at the approaching giant statue. "_Hell Pyre!_" A flare erupted in the darkness, Zelos leapt, and the Last Fencer hurtled down, a sharp meteor from the void. Regal's shackles burst like spaghetti under a hammer, and he ran on, retrieving the fork as he went. "...You're welcome," the Chosen muttered.

"Thank you!" Regal shouted back, making Zelos briefly wonder what on Tethe'alla had happened to the duke's ears.

Raine and Vahgner leapt out of the way, clearing the altar just in time for Regal to take his place. The statue, which had followed him with single-minded fervour, was still directly across the Wok. It stopped, realising its predicament, and simply stared at him with its fiery gaze.

"**This is your utmost, mortal chef?**" it growled. "**The Imperial Cordon Bleu of old would have been deeply disappointed.**"

"Perhaps," said Regal. "But they would have been wrong, as well. I suspect that is your deepest flaw– an inability to learn."

"**What use have I for learning? I am a the chef of master chefs!**"

"Yes," Regal said sympathetically. "I suppose you are."

"**And yet you seem to have some thought of creating a dish of such power as to rival my own,**" it observed, pointing at the flooded vegetables and other ingredients. "**I do not know this one.**"

"You wouldn't. You can't. No one can," said Regal. "This is the Ultimate Recipe, the dish for which there are no directions." He wielded the fork more easily with his hands free, and dipped its prongs into the water, which rippled for a moment and then began to boil.

"**The Ultimate Recipe is a myth, as my people have long known. Why should I fear this falsehood?**"

"Because it is incomplete," said Regal. His plan was working perfectly– the golem chef was too interested in arguing and proving its confidence to consider attacking or moving away from the Wok. "And all Recipes of Power call out to those things that are key to their completeness."

"**You are bluffing.**"

"Y'know," said Zelos' voice from the shadows, "pretty much any villain who's ever said that hasn't lived to regret it. But if they _had_ lived, I'm pretty sure regret would have come up eventually."

"**Then tell me the name of this creation,**" said the statue of the Wonder Chef.

"It is the result of unity, rather than a single virtuoso chef at work. None can know the recipe, but every living soul in the world knows a part, and the more that gather, the greater its glory." Regal raised the fork, making Raine wonder if he realised he was taking the pose that the real Wonder Chef had used dozens of times. "It is _Stone_ _Soup_!"

The statue seemed to freeze for a moment, and then its eyes burned brightly with fear and revelation. Regal drew a pouch out of his apron pocket, threw it into the air, and slashed it apart with the fork. His favourite spices, white and red satay, drifted down to mix with the soup. The sides and edge of the Wok began to shine with runes long-forgotten (Raine tried to memorize as many as possible, wishing she had brought a notebook), and its power shone in all directions.

That power pierced the statue, calling to the stone that made its body, demanding completeness. It stood as firmly as possible, resisting the pull, but Regal's Ultimate Recipe was as stubborn as his sense of justice, and probably less patient. When a call, a summons, and a tug would not work, it reached out and yanked.

The statue toppled forward into the radiant pool with a suppressed splash. Pure water can't be heated above the boiling point under normal conditions, nor should it erode granite very easily, but within the depths of the Wok, the statue shattered and crumbled into thousands of stones no larger than a fist. Now sated, the soup's surface turned mirror-calm again, except for the occasional floating broccoli floret or chunk of potato.

Vahgner sighed so deeply that he nearly collapsed. Regal turned away from the Wok to see Raine, drawing runes in the dust with the end of her Phoenix Rod. Somewhere on a side wall, Zelos finished his climb down the side of a terracotta chef and dropped the last ten feet to the floor.

Where the Wonder Chef had managed to sneak in was a complete mystery, but he was definitely their at Regal's side, his eternal grin as strong as ever. "That just about does it, Regal Bryant. Not one person in more than four thousand years has discovered the secret of the Ultimate Recipe."

Regal decided it wasn't worth asking how he had arrived. "Out of curiosity, what would you have done if I hadn't heard the story of stone soup as a child?"

"Given you a different hint, I should think," said the Wonder Chef. "Maybe told you to seek wisdom from the lessons of those who have not yet learned cynicism. And that's just off the top of my head."

"The Wonder Chef!" Vahgner shouted. He was a little behind current events.

"Down, boy," said the Wonder Chef, waving his archenemy (in theory) away. "I'm a little disappointed that you didn't find the information leak. We may be a bit safer, now that the true Ultimate Recipe is known again and it's impossible to use for evil, but I doubt the Dark Chefs are gone. All we need is one stubborn one, like the Darkest Chef, or... _Dior?!_"

Zelos had arrived with a thoroughly-bound Dior slung over one shoulder, radiating smugness strong enough to tan the unprotected. "You know her?" he asked, dropping her with polite gentleness on the floor.

"I wish I didn't," she growled, wondering if her bonds would be any easier to chew through with some purple satay.

"She's my sister," said the Wonder Chef.

"Hah!" Dior scoffed, but stopped there, because Zelos had retrieved the Last Fencer from the tiles.

"So I get to be part of the legend too, right? You know, to be honest, I think I'd look better in that hat than either of you," said the Chosen.

The Wonder Chef apparently took no offence at this. "If you want your chance, then go out and cook, my friend! And one day you may attain the title of Gourmet Prince." He turned to regard the last Dark Chef standing, who was wishing right now for a large mythril cutting board to hide behind. "You. Vahgner."

"AGH! ...I mean... yes?" he corrected himself.

"Your methods are heartless, but I don't think you are. If you wish, I will take you on as my personal apprentice and we'll see what you're really made of."

"If the way I feel right now is anything to go by, I'd guess structurally unsound trifle. Possibly overcooked ramen." His eyes flickered away for a moment, as if he was reading a checklist on the inside of his head. "...Sir."

"First off, could you go into the outer temple and see about rounding up any of the other Dark Chefs out there? Deception is your friend in this case– try to lock them in one of the warmer storage rooms so they're not freezing or starving when the rest of my family arrives." Vahgner listened carefully, saluted, and ran off. "...The hardest thing to teach him," the Wonder Chef observed, "is going to be how to think for himself."

"Whoa, hey, I thought you were going to teach Regal or something," said Zelos.

"And what do I know that he doesn't?" asked the Wonder Chef. "If you could take my sister out of here and wait for us aboveground, I'd be forever grateful." Zelos considered the angry woman currently lying at his feet, the now-suffocating heat and humidity of the cavern, and the new day that would be outside. Pulling Raine away, the three of them also left the temple of the Wok.

"That goes beyond coincidence," said Regal. "Only the two of us remaining in this place, all others sent purposefully or casually away?"

The Wonder Chef grinned, walked up to the edge of the Wok, and sat beside the altar, watching the currents in the soup.

"What _do_ you know that I don't?" Regal went on.

"Will you be the next Wonder Chef?" he asked, as though Bryant had said nothing.

"No."

"I'm glad to hear that." The Wonder Chef's voice changed, losing some of its flamboyant brightness. He still sounded younger than Regal, which was surprising, but he spoke with solemnity for the first time. "I don't think I could do this to anyone else. You don't deserve it. I'd like to think I don't, either."

"I have a guess," said Regal. "With your fork in hand, my senses were magnified many times. And I remembered a friend who once gained the same power..."

The Wonder Chef stood and turned to face Regal again, silhouetted by the ethereal glow of the Wok and its stone soup. His jacket hung open, just enough to see the part of his chest below the collar, where almost any clothing could hide it. A golden crest and a sphere that shone a prismatic silver.

"Mine," said the Wonder Chef, "was one of the first Cruxis Crystals ever created on this world. Where it came from, even I have never discovered, as any historian would now tell you that they were invented accidentally, by the father of Mithos Yggdrasill, using his mother, some centuries after mine."

"Is there any limit to your power?" Regal murmured. He had guessed correctly, but the revelation was still surprising.

"Yes. Of course. Human limits. I'm nothing more than what you could become, Regal Bryant." He grinned again. "If you were four and a half thousand years old." He fastened his uniform again, and the celestial light faded cooperatively.

"And Dior? Your sister?"

"Only by tradition. My bloodline lives on– I didn't lie when I said my family endeavours to defeat and restore the Dark Chef Alliance, which is nearly as old as I am. They weaken, even vanish, but someone leaves behind a dark recipe book, or hides their great-knife in a forgotten tower... or builds a giant temple to gods of cooking... and fifty years later it's all starting over again."

"It's finished now, though," said Regal.

"Finished? Do you think this is the only ancient city in the world? Have you ever scoured the Fooji mountains on a moonlit night during the autumnal equinox? You can't _move_ for evil altars and demonic libraries and dark towers. ...So. Why don't you want this power?"

Regal held out the fork. "Because it isn't my purpose. This was my greatest moment as a chef, and I have taken my place in their prophecies. Now I must find my next quest." The Wonder Chef took his fork back, and the shared power went with it. The raiment of the God of the Kitchen vanished, except for the hat, which Regal folded and placed in a hip pocket. "My last question... why didn't you help us?"

"With Yggdrasill and the Eternal Sword, you mean?"

"That particular near-apocalypse, yes."

"Didn't I?" said the Wonder Chef, walking away from the Wok. Regal followed. "I suppose Colette never saved Lloyd with cream stew in Torent Forest, then? And a hastily prepared batch of rice balls didn't actually make the difference between victory and painful death at Rodyle's ranch, when the dragons attacked? It's a good thing that the Gnomelettes didn't demand spicy food for passage into the–"

"You didn't teach us that," Regal pointed out. "Tabatha had the curry recipe."

The Wonder Chef looked at Bryant as though he had just eaten a lemon whole and asked for wasabi to follow. "And who did you think taught _her_?"

* * *

"I'll have to bring a team from Sybak to help me properly excavate," said Raine. She was sitting on a stack of lumber in a corner of New Palmacosta, behind the site of the old academy, where they had found the entrance to the catacombs.

"Sure thing, Raine," said Zelos, who was standing watch over Dior, although her only real escape route at that moment would have been to dive into the water and swim to Flanoir.

"Why in blazes would anyone want to marry you, anyway?" the Dark Chef growled.

"Who wants to _what_ Zelos?" Raine exclaimed, shaken out of her archaeological reverie.

"Um," said Zelos.

"That's the Turquoise Ring, isn't it?" said Raine, picking out the jewellery with scientific precision. "I knew that Lloyd was allowed to keep Origin's Diamond, but I've been wondering about all the rest. A very practical use for it, I suppose."

"What is?" asked Regal, emerging from the once-hidden subterranean staircase.

"The ring," said Raine, before Zelos could stop her.

"Oh, of _course_. The alliance," Regal realised, before Zelos could distract him.

"The alliance?" Raine repeated, watching Wilder squirm.

"The forging of an alliance between Meltokio and Mizuho. I've been asked to attend," said Regal.

"Alliance by marriage, a good and ancient tradition. Will Sheena be there?" asked Raine.

Zelos gawked, or possibly goggled. "What? Of course she'll be there!"

"That's good. People can get so offended when they're not invited–"

"She wasn't invited!" Zelos blurted. He realised that Regal and Raine were both now watching him intently, and probably weren't going to let him leave until he said it. "_IaskedSheenatomarryme_. Now where's the Wonder Chef?"

"Getting on with things," said Regal pleasantly. "Who feels like spaghetti?"

Zelos turned to make sure he hadn't hallucinated the horizon. It was, indeed, the only bright part of the sky, or the rest of the landscape. The rest of the sea and the islands were various shades of black, occasionally fading to supremely dark blue and green. "It's five-thirty in the morning, Regal."

"Paella, then."

"...Sure, what the heck. Hey, will you teach me how?"

"Have you got something to chop garlic with?"

_Fshink!_ "Yup."

"Let's start."


End file.
